


You Might Get What You're After

by ravenlowe



Series: This Must Be the Place [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bad Sex, But not for the main pairing, Canon-Typical Violence, Classism, Exhibitionism, F/M, Harry Hart is a Little Shit, Harry Hart is kind of a slut, Homophobia, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pegging, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Voyeurism, Young Harry Hart, Young Merlin (Kingsman)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: It's 1981, and after a run of successful missions, Harry Hart is at the top of his, admittedly short spy career, but when a mission goes bad a new voice on the other end of his line sparks something that has the potential to change him forever.Hamish didn't ask for this.  The Kingsman Organization and the tech it wields is like something out of a science fiction novel.  A chance encounter finds him sinking deeper into the Organization's clutches, but is that such a bad thing?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Big Project(tm). This fic is complete and will update regularly. I have worked harder on this story than anything else I've ever written, and while that's already fulfilling, I hope you guys like it too. Warnings will be added to the beginning of each chapter as needed, and pretty much all of the Harry/OC content is mission related.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a honeypot mission, Harry gets in a little over his head.

**August 22 1981 - [Redacted], England**

The first thing that Harry learned about being a spy, was to always have a backup plan.

The second, was that all the plans in the world wouldn’t help you when things went to shit.

The mission was _supposed_ to be a simple one. 

 

Step One:  Seduce the arms dealer’s wife.  

Step Two:  Take the incriminating documents from the safe in their bedroom.  

Step Three: Leave.  

 

It was a mission in three easy steps that should have resulted in another success under Harry’s belt.

Step One:

Harry stepped out of his Kingsman issued cab with a smile, and the stature of a man that knew he was _better_ than everyone around him.  There was a confidence to his gait that made people move aside even as the cut of his suit, tailored perfectly to make his lanky form appear broader about the chest and thin about the waist, drew eyes. 

No one stopped Harry from walking straight into the club. 

The Starlight Club was a step up from his normal night club scene.  It catered to an older crowd; those nostalgic for the elegance and brutality of the sixties.  It was beautiful to look at the way cubic zirconia was; a good imitation, but at the end of the evening, still not a diamond.  The soft jazz that filtered through the air was played through speakers, rather than from a live band. The wallpaper, the upholstery, and the chandeliers were all redone with replicas-- and cheap ones at that.

Material excess at half the cost.

His age aside-- because Harry was _at least_ a decade younger than a majority of the patrons-- Harry fit right in, with his high-end suit and air of superiority.  

The whole thing left a bit of a bad taste in his mouth.

Still, he would have liked to explore the venue but sadly, this trip was for business, not pleasure.  Well, in a way it was both.

Harry let out a soft snort at the way his thoughts were heading, as he weaved his way towards the bar.

“Focus, Galahad,” the voice in his ear reminded him, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  It wasn’t as if his babysitter could see him, but it _could_ look a bit odd to anyone that _was_ watching.  He hummed a soft affirmative and bumped his hip against the bar. 

Lamorak or Gawain, respectively fifteen and ten years his senior, might have been better fits for the crowd, but the mission at hand happened to be Harry’s burgeoning speciality-- a honeypot.  It wasn’t,perhaps, the most socially acceptable specialization, but Harry took a certain amount of pride in it. He _enjoyed_ the challenge of it.  He _enjoyed_ the game. 

He enjoyed the _sex_. 

Harry was twenty-one, in the prime of his youth, and there was no reason he shouldn’t spend said youth having a good time, _as well_ as working the job of his dreams.

Besides, Mummy always lamented that Harry had the kind of eyes that made women fall in love.  She underestimated him, however, as with the right look he could have any _man_ he wanted falling all over himself, as well.  It was a gift, though perhaps not as much an underestimation as it was a desperate hope that Harry didn’t share the same inclinations as his father. 

No matter.

“Gin and tonic, please,” he ordered, as he scanned the bar for his mark.  Man or no, Mummy would beyond scandalized to find out just what he was using his eyes for.  Tonight, he was here for a woman, the wife of the man Kingsman was truly interested in.

Roman Dubois was of the worst sort-- _French,_ an arms dealer, and suspected of so much more.  His wife, Sharon, was little more than window dressing but _access_ to her granted access to Dubois’ London home and to Harry’s benefit, she wasn’t the faithful sort.

She was also at the other end of the bar, draped in furs and diamonds, surrounded by a bevy of male admirers.

Harry might say that he had his work cut out for him, but none of them were _Harry_ .  Not a one of them had his boyish charm, _or_ his obvious social standing. 

He took a sip of his drink and planned his angle of attack. 

First, he needed to draw her attention from the circle of men around her.  Just approaching wouldn’t do. He flagged down the bartender once more, and within a few seconds a fresh flute of champagne was headed her way.  She cooed at the drink then leaned back against the bar to get her first glimpse of Harry. 

He put on a show.

It wasn’t too hard to feign interest.  Mrs. Dubois was a beautiful woman, after all.  Harry looked back, walking the thin line between unabashed and leering, as he dropped his gaze to look through his lashes.  Her own eyes narrowed in response, as he raised his glass in a toast. She smiled then, as she matched the motion so they drank together, and then he turned away. 

It wouldn’t do to seem _too_ eager.  He was young, yes, but he was no puppy yapping at her heels and begging for attention, either.

Harry ordered another drink then fished his cigarette case out of his inner jacket pocket.  The smoke was just beginning to waft around his face when Harry’s actions paid off.

A polite cough drew his attention.

He turned his back to the bar, and forced his lips into a wide smile as he found Mrs. Dubois herself there, looking somewhere between amused and put out.  Up close, she was no less beautiful, but the cracks started to show. She was beautiful in the same way the club she chose to hold court in was--superficially.

“Buy a lady a drink, then ignore her,” she simpered in a tone that Harry figured was supposed to be coy.  “I’m not sure if you’re arrogant, or just plain rude.”

Harry’s smile grew as he leaned in closer.  “A bit of the first,” he told her, as if it were some great joke. “Though I prefer to think of it as confidence.”

“Of which you are in abundance of.”  It was a statement and not a question.

“Of which I have an abundance of,” Harry echoed with a nod and and a sly tilt of his head.  He leaned back against the bar, smug, as her eyes followed his movements. Her gaze trailed down his body as Harry stretched, showing off.

Harry signaled the bartender and ordered her another drink.  He left it on the bar, and forced her to lean closer to him to retrieve it.  

He put his hand on her waist.

She didn’t shake him off.

Harry splayed his fingers wide, his pinky trailing dangerously low on her back.

She leaned into his touch.

Just like that, it was time to go.

Harry took a long drag off his cigarette then twisted to put it out in a nearby ashtray.  When he turned back her eyes were on his lips as she sipped her champagne.

“My husband,” she said, as she watched Harry sip his own drink with the gaze of a woman either deeply entranced, or well into her cups-- perhaps both.  “Is in the habit of leaving me alone for long periods of time. Business he says, but I get lonely. Keep me company?”

There was no room in her tone to misinterpret her meaning, and Harry smiled in return as he discarded his glass, then plucked hers from her fingers to do the same.  “ _Your place,”_ he purred, leaning into the words, drawing them out in a subtle suggestion with just the right amount of emphasis. “Or mine?”

She gave him another long look before taking him by the hand, and leading him towards the door.  “Find us a cab, and I’ll give _you_ the address.”

Step One, complete.

  


\-------------

 

Hamish had a habit of ending up in unexpected situations, and making the best of them, but developing weaponry for an international intelligence organization?   

Even after six months, it was fucking _surreal._

He was minding his own business in a cafe one bright Tuesday morning when an older man, dressed in a suit that cost more than the yearly rent on Hamish’s flat, sat down at Hamish’s table. The cafe wasn’t crowded--was almost deserted even--but of all the available tables, the man chose the one that was already occupied.

“This table’s taken,” Hamish grumbled without looking up from the notebook he was drafting in.

“I’m aware of that,” the man drawled with a chiding humor that made Hamish feel like _he_ was the one in the wrong.  “I’m not blind young man. I wanted to speak with you.”

Hamish looked up at that.  His eyes darted rapidly back and forth as he took in the details of the man and then dismissed him, going back to his coding.  The project was due that6 afternoon, and he didn’t quite have the code the way he wanted it. “I don’t know what a tailor would want to do with me.”

The dismissal didn’t seem to faze the man at all.  From the corner of his eye, Hamish could see that the man’s smile grew as he picked up his teacup and took a sip.  “And who told you I was a tailor, hm?”

Hamish sighed, and put his pen down, in favor of reaching for his own cup of tea.  “You did,” he drawled. “You’re dressed in a suit that could pay off at least one of my loans, but your fingers are calloused.  Besides, the plate on the suitcase you set down? Kingsman. It’s a shop on Saville Row, isn’t it?”

“Perfect.” Normally, that little party trick startled people.  But if anything, the man across from him looked impossibly smug.  “You’re very observant, aren’t you, Hamish?”

“Right now, I’m on a deadline, and wondering who’s interested, since you seem to know so much about me.”  Hamish set his teacup back down and started to pack his things. This was beyond someone trying to make polite conversation in a cafe and he was young, but he wasn’t stupid.  Even at the ripe old age of eighteen he’d had his fair share of strange mornings, but this one took the cake.

The man reached into his inner coat pocket and brandished a business card in Hamish’s direction, setting it down on his notebook.  “Ah, forgive me. My colleagues will tell you that I sometimes forget my manners when I get excited. My name is Mordred, and I do indeed represent the Kingsman shop on Saville Row.  What I’m interested in, is offering you a job--the last one you’ll ever need.”

The strangeness of the situation was skyrocketing, but Hamish still found himself reaching for the card and turning it over in his hands.  “Mordred like the Arth---”

“Something, like that, yes.”

Hamish frowned.  “What’s a high end tailor shop want with someone like _me_ ?”  He was nobody; in uni on a scholarship that he worked his arse off for, for _computer science_ for fucks sake.

“Look again,” Mordred suggested, as he pushed his chair away from the table.  “I’ll leave you to your work, but if you’re interested in what I have to offer, meet me at the address on that card, tonight, at ten o’clock.”

“But, wait, I--” Mordred didn’t seem interested in Hamish’s protests as he let himself out of the store, and Hamish only had a moment to take that closer look.  His brows furrowed as he took in the details of the man’s retreating back, and--there. The cloth pulled oddly across his shoulders for a bespoke suit, as if he was wearing something underneath.  A holster.

But it wasn't just that.  Hamish craned his head around and realized he was alone in the shop.  They had been, for the entire conversation, on what should be a busy morning.  Even the workers were conspicuously missing. Where was his waitress? 

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, then looked down at the card.  It was the only proof he had that he wasn’t hallucinating the whole thing.  There was no way he was going to the shop. It was crazy, _this was crazy._  He had his scholarship, and projects due.  He had a shift in the lab later that night.  It was insane to endanger his future for what could possibly be a fever dream.

He _wasn’t_ going.

He wasn’t.

_He did._

And the really crazy part about it was: he didn’t regret it. 

He’d traded in his scholarship and shite job in the computer labs, for a career most people could only dream of.  Sure, the hours and the expectations were just as rigorous as his schedule before, but Hamish would have put up with either for just the chance to _look_ at some of the tech that was being developed in Kingsman HQ.

He got to do so much more than just look at it, or would eventually.

There were still background checks to pass, and training to be had before they’d let him handle the explosives.  Hamish’s background was in coding, _not_ ballistics, after all.  So, for the time being, he was spending his time learning Kingsman’s security inside and out.  The system was the most secure he’d seen in his life, but there was always room for improvement.

There were holes, and Hamish would find them.

His workstation was cozy, if not covered in dirty coffee cups, and it was entirely too easy to get lost in the blueprints and code that made up the redundant power grid and automated security system, not to be confused with the primary power grid and security system, or even the secondary of each.

Hamish yawned and glanced at the nearby clock, and realized that he’d been at it for six hours.  Fuck. He rubbed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, then browsed through his coffee cups, only to find _all_ of them empty.  His stomach rumbled, just as upset as Hamish was at the fact, and he decided that perhaps it was time for something a little more substantial.

He pushed away from the desk, and stretched as he stood, drawing the attention Roberts, the man who was officially tasked with training Hamish, but was more than happy to leave him to his own devices unless needed.  It was a good arrangement. He was there to answer questions, but Hamish was able to take things at his own speed. 

“It that time already?” he questioned, giving a little stretch of his own without getting up.  It helped that he had the tendency to get just as wrapped up in his own projects as Hamish did.

“It’s almost two,” Hamish confirmed.  “Beyond that time, really.” 

“Shit,” Roberts cursed, shuffling papers on his table until he found whatever it was he was looking for.  “I was supposed to have these to Mordred for review hours ago, but I can’t leave this.” 

Hamish hummed, only half listening, as he continued to work out the kinks that six hours bent over a desk brought on, and wondered what was on special at the canteen that evening. 

“I don’t suppose you’d mind taking this up to Central for me?”

Hamish hummed again, then stopped, realizing that he’d just agreed to something.  Roberts shook the packet at him, and no matter how reluctant, Hamish took it.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Yeah, alright.  You're welcome.”

Hamish tucked the packet under his arm, scooped up his bag, and made his way to the elevators.

Central was short for Central Intelligence.  He’d been given a tour of Kingsman’s information hub after his third round of background checks had cleared, but Hamish wasn’t sure that he had the clearance to even enter the area on his own.  Well, he supposed, he was about to find out. If not, he could always just take the packet back to Roberts when he was done eating. The elevators let him off on the proper floor, and when Hamish used his card at the large doors that resembled something more out of _Star Wars_ than it did anything practical, the light on the security pad turned green, and the heavy doors slid open.

Interesting. 

The overhead lights were still bright, though the main room seemed to be deserted, except for a single agent, stretched out in his chair in front of an active monitor, asleep.

Hamish let out a soft snort as he passed the man, on his way to Mordred’s office.  Spy organization or university computer lab, some things never changed.

Mordred’s office was dark and locked, but there was a dropbox, and Hamish left the packet there.  He turned to make his way back, his stomach rumbling to remind him why he’d come upstairs to begin with.   

He was making his way back through the main room when a burst of static suddenly burst from the active monitor.

“Galahad to HQ.  This is Galahad to HQ.  Things have gone to pot.  I’m unarmed and need a way out.”

The agent dozing in his chair, sat up with enough force to send the chair rolling out from underneath him.  He didn’t even seem to notice that Hamish was standing there as he stood at the desk and pulled the microphone closer to his mouth.  “Galahad? You’re two hours early for your check in. Is everything alright?”

\-------------

 

Step Two: 

Step two went right out the window when Dubois, who was supposed to be in Belgium, walked in to find Harry _in flagrante delicto_ with his wife.

“The _fuck_ is going on in here?”

It didn’t sound anymore elegant in a French accent than it did cockney.

Harry took quick stock of the situation-- not good.  He was cornered; unarmed and undressed without a clear exit strategy.  The window was always an option he supposed, though jumping out of the third story without his shoes was an unappetizing thought.  “There seems to be some sort of--”

He rolled out of the bed, and off Dubois’ wife, just in time to narrowly miss getting shot.  The wife screamed as Harry scrambled for his trousers. He rucked them up around his waist before rolling to avoid the second shot.  There was no time for anything else.

“Well, I can see that I’ve overstayed my welcome.”  Harry gathered the rest of his suit in his arms and sprang to his feet, rushing the arms dealer.

The man lunged and Harry dodged to the side, making his escape into the hallway--the hallway where there were several startled bodyguards running in his direction and two already stationed near the door.  Harry jammed the heel of his palm into the chin of one, and ducked under the incoming blow from the next. They stumbled into each other as Harry slid out of the way.

“Don’t you run from me you piece of shit!”  Dubois was giving chase--bellowing orders to his men in French, and Harry had few options for escape.  There were more people advancing on him, and while he was sure he could take them hand to hand, the close quarters weren’t doing anyone any favors. He ducked through the closest doorway instead and slammed the door closed behind him, desperate for an exit.  What he found, was the laundry.

He threw his body against the door, forcing it shut as someone on the other side tried to open it.

“Come out you rat! There’s nowhere to run!”

Trapped like a rat, indeed. Harry bit his lips, looking desperately for something he could use as a weapon as he threw the lock on the door to buy himself some time.  He took a deep breath, then slid his shirt and coat over his shoulders. He left the fabric hanging loose, as he dug his communicator out of his breast pocket. He jammed it in his ear hard enough to hurt, then went about trying to move the washer in front of the door. “Galahad to HQ.  This is Galahad to HQ. Things have gone to pot. I’m unarmed and need a way out.”

It took a moment for the burst of static signaling someone was on the line to come through.  “Galahad? You’re two hours early for your check in. Is everything alright?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t the voice, or the answer Harry was expecting.  “No! I just told you that it’s gone to shit,” Harry scowled, his voice breathless with exertion as he pushed the washer into place.  It wouldn’t help him if they started shooting again, but it was at least a little harder for them to cave the door in on him. “Where’s Mordred? Who am I even speaking with?” 

“Dagonet, sir. Mordred is currently occupied.  Please hold on a moment while I try to pinpoint your location.”

“I don’t have a _moment_ !”  Harry squinted in the dark room.  There was a rack of clothing on the far wall, and _something_ about the patch of wall that he could barely glimpse bothered him.  He pushed away from the washer to take a closer look, when the BANG-PING of the door handle being shot off drew his attention back to the door.  “Any time now, please!”

“I’m sorry Galahad, this wasn’t---I--” 

A growled Scottish brogue cut through the stammering over the line.  “Oh. For fuck’s sake. Pull yourself together.”

In any other situation the commanding tone would have sent shivers down Harry’s spine. As things were however, the slow splintering of the door took most of his attention.

“There he is,” the voice said again.  “Judging from your tracking data, we have you in the third story utility room.  Is this correct?” 

“In the laundry, yes,” Harry replied through gritted teeth.  A rat in a trap, indeed. “I’d say the door has around thirty seconds left on it, then I’ll have no choice but to attempt and fight my way out of here.  Unarmed and barefoot.”

“Well, that will teach you to not get caught with your pants down,” the voice sing-songed.  “Or off, as the case seems to be.”

Harry huffed, taken-aback.  “Well I--”

“According to the blueprints, there’s a dumbwaiter on the far wall.  Can you confirm?”

Harry’s indignation was interrupted by the offering of a way out.  He ignored the yelling and sound of splintering wood behind him, and crossed the room.  Sure enough, beyond the clothes, on the patch of wall that puzzled him before, was the metal door installation of a dumbwaiter.  He blinked at it, incredulous. While Harry _was_ lithe, his 6’1” frame was _not_ small.  “Confirmed.  I suppose you want me to squeeze myself into it?”

“It’s that or fight your way through the horde, unarmed and barefoot.  If you don’t think you’re flexible enough--”

“Oh, I’m _plenty_ flexible.”  Harry curled his fingers under the metal door and slid it open with a loud clang.

“You asked for a way out, and I’ve provided it,” the voice on the other end of the line growled, the brogue thickening with irritation.  “Get in there before you lose the chance.” 

Harry was already in motion.  He considered the opening and heaved himself up to slide into it feet first.  The sides of the shaft were slick, but he had to admit his bare feet likely provided more traction against the metal than his oxfords would have.

He ducked the rest of his body inside, as the washer screeched across the floor.  Harry fumbled with the gate, attempting to close it, as a shot rang out. The hot flash of pain startled him.  His suit was supposed to be bulletproof. Harry lost his footing and began to slide down the narrow shaft.

It was impossible to catch his breath, so Harry tried to work past it.  He was trained to work past it, and what kind of agent would he be if he let one little gunshot wound bring him down?  He wrapped his hands around the cable. Harry groaned as he continued to slide and struggled to get his legs back up to brace himself.  It seemed as if it took forever, but he managed to wedge his knees against one wall, and his back against the other, then _push_ until he slowed to a stop.

“Shit,” he cursed, voice rough and breathless.

His com echoed the sentiment with a burst of static, and then another, before Harry could begin to make out words.  “Gala---? What happ--ed?

“For the record,” Harry gasped.  “Your escape plan is shit. I’m now stuck in the dumbwaiter shaft instead of the laundry, and oh, I’ve been _shot.”_ The suit was supposed to be bulletproof, except, Harry hadn’t really put the suit on again, had he?  In his haste to escape, he shoved his arms through the holes and let it drape, leaving his chest mostly bare.

The return answer over the coms was just as broken as the first, but it came with instructions.  “Some--ng ---reing with the signal. I’ve c--led in a distra-----. Keep ---- down.” 

Harry was already shimmying his way downwards, with aching hands and a freely bleeding bullet hole-- he might have been a little fixated on the whole getting shot thing but to be fair, it _was_ his first time. 

He dreaded what he was going to find at the other end of the shaft.  There was nowhere to go but up or down, and Harry wasn’t sure that he could go up again, if the situation called for it.  Every breath he took sent a fresh wave of pain through his middle, and he was starting to go a bit lightheaded with it.

It was a relief to reach the bottom of the shaft.  “Alright. There’s nowhere else for me to go. I’d appreciate an extraction now, if you don’t mind.”

Silence stretched on the other end of the line, and for a moment Harry thought he was on his own, but then the line burst to life once more.  “Go!”

Harry worked his fingers into the gap between the door and the frame, then pushed it upwards slowly, trying for a bit of, unneeded as it turned out, stealth.  The hallway was empty. He remained cautious as he began to pull himself out of the shaft, but there wasn’t a sound to be heard. If he didn’t know better, Harry would say the whole house was deserted.

He fell, in a heap into the floor, then pulled himself back up by the edge of the dumbwaiter.  “Alright, I’m out, what next?”

“Hello, Galahad, this is Mordred.”

Free from the interference of the dumbwaiter shaft, Mordred’s voice came through loud and clear.  Harry sank against the wall with relief. “Well, thank Christ for that. Who do I have to blame for this debacle?”

“I think things are going rather well, all things considered, but, we can discuss that during your debrief.”  Mordred sounded downright amused, which was equal parts comforting and galling, in the face of Harry’s own irritation.  He was in the middle of a clusterfuck. He was allowed to be annoyed, but he’d yet to find a situation that could shake Mordred’s cool humor.  “For now, go left. Your way is clear and the extraction team is waiting.”

“Thank you muchly,” Harry rasped.  He wrapped his arm around his middle, pushed away from the wall, and limped down the hallway. 

The hall was deserted.  Mordred told him that the way was clear, but Harry hadn’t been expecting it to be quite so quiet.  He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, and he was glad to step into the cold night air unimpeded--

\--Until an arm came down heavy on his shoulder.  Harry sucked in a breath, his own arm coming up to seal around the offending wrist and yank, as he began to duck, only for the arm to pull back on him, sending him into a dizzying spin that ended with him pinned in the mockery of a hug against a solid chest.  “Easy there, Galahad. Your knight in shining taxi cab, as it were, is here to drive you off into the sunrise.”

“Tristan you---”  Harry sagged as the other man interrupted.

“ _Beautiful man with damn near perfect timing_?  I know, I know.  Save your breath.  Let’s get you strapped in to the med-evac, hm?  Bleeding’s not an attractive look on you. Lancelot’s cleaning up inside.”

Harry scowled and hissed as Tristan shifted his hold to put pressure on Harry’s wound and drag him off in the direction of the waiting cab. 

Lancelot caught up with them in time to help Tristan get Harry over a fence that was in their way.  “Bloody mess of things you made in there,” the older man grumbled as he scaled the fence on his own once Harry was over.  “It was a miracle that we were still able to get the documents.”

Harry’s energy was flagging, and even his tongue felt to heavy to work properly.  A scathing reply was on the tip of said tongue, but he couldn’t quite get it to come out.  Instead he mumbled indistinctly as the other two men got him situated in the back seat of the cab.

“What was that?”  Lancelot slid onto the seat next to him as Tristan took up the driver’s position.

What came out, as Harry began to lose his grasp on consciousness was not the pithy remark he had planned, but something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for most of the evening.

“Why was the _laundry_ on the _third floor_?”

 

\------

 

Hamish’s hands were shaking.  Galahad was coming home safe, but that was a cold comfort.

Mordred had shouldered Hamish aside and taken control of the situation the moment he stormed into Central.

Hamish was more than glad to relinquish control.  He never should have gotten involved to begin with, but he couldn’t just stand aside while there was an actual _gunfight_ going on, and the agent in charge was panicking.  He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d forgotten every single one of the protocol lessons he’d been subjected to for the past six months, and taken on something that was so far above his pay grade it wasn’t funny.

He remained close by, as the situation played itself out, questioning all his decisions and fretting, both over Galahad’s condition and his own future.

He not only made the decision to send more agents into the field, but sent them with an untested substance that he _wasn’t even supposed to be working on._  It was a pet project-- one that he’d been fiddling with in his limited free time, and one _outside_ his specialization at that.

Hamish wasn’t a chemist; just a man with a bit of interest. A hobbyist.  He was _supposed_ to be familiarizing himself with the security systems, and nothing more.

Fuck.  He swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced himself to breathe at a steady pace.  Now wasn’t the time to have a panic attack, but it also _was_ absolutely the right time to have a panic attack.

A touch to his shoulder startled Hamish, and he realized that he’d been staring blankly at the monitor. He turned to find Mordred smiling back at him in that way he had, the one that somehow calmed Hamish’s anxiety while making his stomach clench for new, horrible reasons.  Hamish didn’t think he’d ever be able to duplicate the man’s demeanor. He was endlessly patient and came off as a doting grandfather, yet took no shit. “He’s going to be fine, my boy. Just got clipped in the side, but we do need to discuss the chain of events that lead to _you_ on coms.”

Hamish couldn’t hide his flinch.  “I was dropping off a packet for Roberts,” he began as he tried to order his thoughts.  He was in the wrong and he knew it, but perhaps there was a way he could put the chain of events that wouldn’t end in his prompt firing, and by firing, he meant murder.  He was going to die. “My security card let me in, and I went straight to your office to drop off the packet. I noticed that..Dagonet… was asleep as I passed. I was on my way back through when Galahad sent his distress signal.”

Mordred wasn’t impressed.  His fingers closed around Hamish’s shoulder, as he directed him to a quiet corner of the room to sit.  “Alright, what happened next?”

Hamish sighed and slumped back into the chair, as Mordred dropped into the one across from him, prim and proper.  He could only hope that his good deed, hadn’t cost him the job that he loved, as crazy as it all was. “It didn’t take a genius to know that things were going badly for Galahad.  Dagonet made contact with the agent, but he was addled. Reacting slowly. I stepped in to help him handle the blueprints. We got them spread out on the desk, but he was still having issues referencing the tracking data so I...took over.”

There’d been no time for anything else.  Hamish _could_ have relayed the information to Dagonet and then let Dagonet convey the information on to Galahad, but it hadn’t seemed like the agent had the time for a game of telephone.  “I directed Agent Galahad into dumbwaiter shaft, while Dagonet mobilized Tristan and Lancelot. Lancelot cleared the building of hostiles while Tristan intercepted Galahad.”

Mordred listened to Hamish’s story, his face betraying nothing.  In reality, it had been a huge overstep, and they both knew it. Hamish was a tech.  He wasn’t cleared to know the agent’s names, let alone interact with them. “I see. And the tech that Lancelot used to immobilize everyone in the building?”

Hamish’s back straightened, and he held his chin high with confidence that he didn’t particularly feel.  “A gas that I’ve been tweaking. It already caused a short period of unconsciousness, but I’ve been experimenting with it to have a side effect of temporary amnesia.  I won’t apologize for sending it. Untested, I know. But I had no reason to expect it to do anything than what it was meant to--and it didn’t. I calculated the risks, and found it to be the best option to resolve things without a bloodbath--Sir.”  The sir was an afterthought, one to soften the hard tone his words had taken as Hamish became passionate about his decision.

Mordred raised a brow, pinning him with a level gaze.  Hamish swore he could see the man’s eyes twinkling back at him as he took Hamish’s measure.  “Alright.”

“Sir?”  Hamish blinked back confused, as Mordred leaned back in his chair, looking all the world like he’d just won the lottery.

“Alright.  That’s all I needed to hear.  It’s late, and you should have been in bed hours ago.  Don’t think that I’m unaware of the way you and Roberts have been burning the midnight oil.  I must go and debrief Arthur and finish sorting out this mess. Consider yourself off duty until further notice.”  Mordred pushed to his feet and buttoned his suit, kind eyes still on Hamish. “Perhaps take some time to work on the delivery system for that nerve agent of yours?  Our agents won’t always be equipped with gas masks in the field.”

‘I’m..I’m not fired?”  Hamish knew better than to question, but he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that he wasn’t being dismissed in a body bag.

“Of course not,” Mordred rolled his eyes at him.  “Your quick thinking got our agent home, and possibly salvaged a mission that had gone tits up.  If nothing else, you’ve proven that I was right in seeking you out. There’s something a bit _magical_ about you, my boy.”

He swanned out of handling, leaving Hamish feeling a bit like he’d taken a brick to the face.  He was, _unfortunately_ , getting used to that feeling while dealing with his superior.  His hands were still shaking as he pushed himself up from the chair to go back downstairs.  Adrenaline crash-- at least that was what Hamish told himself as he pushed the night’s anxiety away.  Mordred might have told him to go to bed, but there was no way that Hamish was going to be able to sleep anytime toon.

There was a cup of tea and a sandwich waiting at his desk for him on a tray, along with a handwritten note.

_Report to Handling at 0600 tomorrow morning to be briefed on your new duties._

_You’ll find the required paperwork forwarded to your terminal._

_Congratulations, Merlin._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry endures his enforced medical leave, while Merlin begins his training. Who knew being a handler was so complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings needed for this chapter!

**Kingsman Headquarters, Central Intelligence**

  
  


Hamish retraced his steps from the day before, and found himself standing in front of Central’s heavy doors, right on time.  Just like the night before, his key card granted him entry and after a pause to allow the doors to slide open, he stepped inside.

Mordred, and a woman he saw from a distance during his original tour, were standing inside, in front of the first set of desks.  To the casual observer, they appeared to be nothing more than co-workers sharing a morning drink, but Hamish could see the lines of tension in their shoulders, and the way they leaned close together, as not to be overheard, even though they were in the most secure room in the manor.

Perhaps he was about to get introduced to a body bag after all, but Mordred smiled when he looked up to greet him.

“Merlin.”  Mordred emphasised the codename as stepped forward and took Hamish’s hand in his own. He gave it a shake and a squeeze before letting go, and motioning to the severe woman behind him.  “This is my second, Guinevere. I believe her official title is Director of Human Resources but she mostly caters to my whims, God help her.”

Some of the tension in the room eased at Mordred’s good humor, and Guinevere even managed to crack a smile as she too stepped forward to shake Hamish’s hand. 

“Congratulations are in order,” she said, in a tone far more warm and pleasant than Hamish was expecting.  Based on her appearance, he expected her to be more like Lancelot, who he only met in passing the night before, and looked at Hamish like something that needed to be scrapped from the bottom of his shoe from the moment he heard Hamish speak.   “The Merlin position has been empty for far too long.”

The look she sent Mordred as she stepped away ignited Hamish’s curiosity, but he didn’t have long to wonder before he was being ushered into a back room.  “I’m sure you have questions,” Mordred soothed, as Hamish’s steps faltered. He was being led into an interrogation room. “And I promise we will answer them, but there’s unfortunately a bit of unpleasantry we have to take care of first.”

They bracketed him on either side, and all but forced him to the lone chair on one side of the table, before crossing around to take up the seats on the other.  The table was barren, aside from a tape recorder that Mordred turned on, before leveling his gaze on Hamish.

It was Guinevere, however, that spoke.  “Hamish…” She paused, and Merlin prepared himself for it.  He wasn’t disappointed as she blinked down at the file and tried to wrap her proper-English mind around the name written there:  _ MacFhlaithbheartaich _ .  “Gracious. MacFlaat-bear-tack?”

He rolled his eyes, and Mordred didn’t even bother to hide the amused snort he made.  “It’s pronounced  _ MacLafferty _ , though I’m not sure why we’re rehashing my given name?”

Her stare was deadpan as she looked down at his file then back up at him.  “Mister….Merlin. It’s not proper to mock one’s elders. I--”

“Let’s move on,” Mordred suggested.  “He’s right. It has no bearing on proceedings.”

“Fine,” Guinevere conceded, though she didn’t look as if she wanted to give up the point.  “Employee number: 2006753-Q. The date is August 23, 1981. This interrogation is being recorded for archive purposes.  Do you consent?”

Hamish didn’t see what choice he had.  “I do.”

Both elder agents appeared pleased by his answer.  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Guinevere continued.  Though there was no lie detector hooked to Hamish’s body, they breezed through the questions meant to establish a baseline.  “You were officially hired by the Kingsman Organization on April 10, 1981, is this information correct?”

“It is.”  Hamish frowned at the question, truly beginning to wonder what this was about.  In the month before his official hire date, he’d gone through several such interrogations, and more than one lie detector test, but during that time, he’d only been questioned by Mordred, and not within headquarters itself.  Perhaps this was just another round-- a hoop to jump through before his security clearance could be updated to match his new position-- whatever that was?

“You were hired as a security engineer in Research and Development, is this correct?”

“It is.”

“And during the period of your employment, have you been in contact with any person  _ not _ on your approved contact list?”

“No.”  He’d given the names as required during his hiring, for his next of kin, and anyone who might say, wonder where he disappeared to, but there had been no need to contact anyone on that very short list.  Mordred had arranged things with the school, after all, and as far as they were concerned, he’d joined a study abroad program. His assignments were still being turned in, and he was still earning credits towards his degree.

There was a pause after his answer, and Hamish had to wonder then; where was the tech that let them know he was telling the truth.  How did it work?

“Have you ever spoken to anyone outside the organization about your position with Kingsman?”

“No.”

“Were you aware that there was an active mission in progress when you entered Central on August 22, 1981?”

Now, Hamish supposed, they were getting to the point, as the questions became more focused on what happened the night before.  “No.”

“Were you aware that said mission involved Roman Dubois?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Hamish sighed, a bit disgusted at the direction this was going.  His only concern at the time was to get Galahad out of the building in one piece. He hadn’t asked questions, and once he got on board, Dagonet had handled all the particulars.

They paused again, and Guinevere flashed Hamish a reassuring smile, as Mordred didn’t bother hiding his amusement at Hamish’s tone.  “Have you ever been in contact with Roman Dubois, or anyone in affiliation with Roman Dubois?”

“That’s a sloppy question,” Hamish pointed out.

Mordred shook his head.  “Just answer it, please.”

There was no way of telling if Hamish had or not, considering he didn’t know who the man was, or who worked for him.  What if the librarian on campus was part of a crime ring in her free time? She always seemed a bit fishy to Hamish. “Not to my knowledge.”

The was satisfactory enough for Guinevere to close the file, but Mordred stopped her before she could turn off the recorder.  This time, it was Mordred who asked the question. “Why did you involve yourself in the mission on August 22, 1981?”

Hamish thought hard before he answered.  It was a split second decision that had no motive aside from  _ do better. _  “Because,” he said at length.  “The agent on the other side of the line deserved better, and I knew that I could do it.  I didn’t want to listen to a man die knowing that I might have done something to stop it.”

Mordred’s smile widened and he nodded to Guinevere to go ahead and turn the machine off.  He stood as she did so, and then motioned for Merlin to follow. “Thank you darling, you know what to do with the recording.”

They left her in the interrogation room and headed for Mordred’s office.

“That line of questioning was very, ah, pointed,” Hamish pointed out as he sat in the offered chair. He was hesitant to bring it up at all, but curiosity won out.  “That wasn’t just a background check.”

“The answer to the question you’re dancing around is no, that wasn’t standard, and I can’t guarantee you that will the be the last.”  Mordred busied himself with the coffeemaker tucked in the corner behind the desk.

Hamish bit his lower lip as he thought over the last twenty minutes.  “You think I’m a mole.”

“Not you, specifically,” Mordred was quick to correct, unsurprised that Hamish had put it together.  He poured them each a mug of coffee, then sat down. “But I don’t believe in coincidence, and our intel was very clear on Roman Dubois’ location.”  He paused, staring at the far wall over Hamish’s shoulder and sipped his coffee before continuing. “If it is of any consolation, the rest of the support staff will be going through the same in the coming weeks.”

That was interesting.  Hamish wanted to know more, and he opened his mouth to ask but Mordred held up his hand to silence him.  “Even with your new position, the investigation is above your pay grade, though somehow, it wouldn’t surprise me if you figured it all out before we did.”

He gave Hamish a knowing look.  It was almost a dare, really, that Hamish was tempted to take him up on.

“For now, however.  I expect you’ll be too busy to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.  Let’s begin the conversation that I actually summoned you here for, shall we?”

The note Hamish received was vague, and the paperwork he filled out the same, but Hamish knew that being given a code name was a  _ big deal. _  He sipped his coffee and waited for Mordred to continue.

The older man raised a brow at his silence and stood, walking around to the same side of the desk as Hamish.  “From the training you’ve already received, you know that there are several divisions within Kingsman. Arthur is our overall figurehead, and is in more direct charge of the Operations Division.  I am the  _ de facto _ head of the remaining divisions, though my main focus is Intelligence.  Guinevere, Nimue, Morgana, and now, you  _ Merlin, _ report directly to me.”

Hamish ran through the list of names.  Guinevere was head of HR, and Nimue was the head of Medical.  “I’m getting a division?”

Mordred chuckled and squeezed Hamish’s shoulder.  “Slow down, dear boy. I realize you mean to take Kingsman by storm, but you’ve  _ years _ of training yet before you’re ready.”

That wasn’t a no.  “So, eventually,” Hamish said at length.

“Eventually,” Mordred agreed.  “For now, however, I’m shifting you out of pure R&D, and into Intelligence.  You’ve shown an aptitude for Handling that I see no reason to waste time in cultivating.” 

“Take the next two days.  Wrap up any short term projects you have going in R&D, and review the packets I’ve sent you.  Arthur has requested that you be present for Galahad’s debriefing, and also would like you to bring your research on the gas you sent Lancelot off with.  I suggest you have everything well in order, Arthur is not the kind of man that enjoys his time being wasted.”

Hamish nodded, agreeing, though he wasn’t satisfied with the information he was being given.  “I still don’t understand what kind of job it is you’re grooming me for,” he grumbled.

Mordred’s smile went wide and just a little threatening.  “One step at a time, and don’t worry, lad. You haven’t let me down yet, and I  _ don’t expect that you will. _ ”  He gave Hamish’s shoulder another squeeze, then walked back around to settle back at his desk.  “That was your cue, son. Get going, unless you want me to find a job for you.”

Well, that was tempting.  Hamish almost stayed where he was, as he didn’t take to inaction well, but Mordred realized his mistake, and made to physically shoo Hamish from the room.  He had almost three days of inactivity ahead of him.

What in the  _ hell  _ was he going to do?

  
  
  
  


\-------

 

**Kingsman Tailor Shop, Upper Rooms**

 

Harry endured the first three days of his medical leave with all due grace, which was to say very little.  They’d released him from the medical wing the morning after to convalace in his quarters, with strict instructions to report back to get his stitches checked.  Until then, he was to move as little as possible. Even, in the height of luxury, it was torture.

While he enjoyed the occasional book or sitting down with his butterflies, his training and lifestyle lead to a more active existence.  He wanted to be back in the field,  _ not _ wallowing in his quarters in a drug induced fugue.

Without the medication, the pain in his side was just enough to keep him distracted and uncomfortable. Reading was too taxing, and anything requiring the slightest bit of concentration was out of the question.  He had little to do but ruminate on his current situation. His pride wanted to blame the handlers for the first dark spot on his otherwise perfect mission record, but Harry wasn’t one to lie to himself.  _ He’d _ been the one that had gone in underprepared, and unarmed.   _ He’d _ been the one taken by surprise.  That wasn’t going to happen again.

His dedication to staying in bed and self-flagellating paid off.  He passed his first checkup with flying colors. Harry still wasn’t cleared for active duty, but he  _ could _ at least impose himself on the general public, and that meant it was time to attend his debriefing.    


“Enter.”  Harry pushed open the twin doors and let himself into the enclave.

Arthur was seated at the head of the table, as Mordred stood to his right.  The two were caught in conversation, speaking in low-hushed tones, even though until Harry’s entrance, they’d been the only two people in the room.  Arthur gestured for Harry to sit without glancing in his direction, and Harry eased himself into his chair at Arthur’s left.

He might have been on the mend, but Harry wasn’t in top shape just yet.

The file for Harry’s mission was spread out on the table in front of Arthur, though they seemed to have no interest in actually beginning the debrief.  Harry wondered if he was being tested. All parties were present. He was rather hoping they would get on with it.

Still, it was a good chance to try and pick up some gossip.  Harry would take whatever he could get in his ongoing battle against Bors, but it seemed he was out of luck.

A knock on the door stilled the conversation and drew Harry’s attention.  Everyone normally required for a debrief was already present. The doors opened and someone that Harry had never seen before-- and Harry made a point of knowing the support staff-- walked through the doors.  He was of a height with Harry, but stockier build, with a bush of ill controlled dark hair, and a frown, like he wanted to be anywhere but this room. Harry concurred. Debriefings were rarely pleasant. The most interesting thing however, was that the mystery man was young -- younger than Harry even, by a couple years if he had to wager.    


“Ah, Merlin.”  Mordred approached the man and ushered him towards Percival’s seat with a smile.  “We were expecting you before Galahad. He has a chronic tardiness problem, but it seems he’s defied expectations today.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was brought up short as  _ Merlin _ answered.  “Sorry, Sir.  I was putting the finishing touches on the prototype you requested and lost track of time.”

Harry  _ knew _ that voice.  This was the mystery handler that sent Harry into the dumbwaiter shaft.  He might have saved Harry’s life, however, “You got me shot!”

Merlin turned his gaze on Harry, eyes narrowed.  Harry didn’t think he’d ever been taken apart so thoroughly in a single second.  He squirmed, covertly under the table. Well. That sensation had nothing to do with the wound in his side.

“You asked me for an exit, and I got you one,” Merlin growled.  “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

That voice paired with those eyes were going to be a problem.

Harry suddenly found himself very aware that his last attempt at getting laid had been interrupted before they reached the main event.  He was on edge, that was all. His current discomfort had nothing to do with the scowling man sitting across from him. It wasn’t personal in the slightest.  He was all of twenty-one. The right teacup could get Harry hot and bothered.

“Perhaps we should just begin with the debriefing.”  It was an attempt to save a little face in front of his superior, one that was perhaps a bit too late.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed as he rubbed a hand over his forehead.  “Perhaps we should.”

Mordred’s eyes were twinkling as he gazed over the three of them.  Merlin’s stare might have gone straight to Harry’s cock, but Mordred’s sent a foreboding shiver down his spine.  He was unsure which of the two was more dangerous. Mordred only got that look in his eyes when he thought he knew something, and being who he was, he generally did.  “Very well. Last week’s clusterfuck.”

“Mordred,” Arthur scowled at the unrepentant man.

“Fine.  Last week’s mishap.” Mordred pulled the disk from the file, and inserted it into the viewing monitor.  The target information from Harry’s initial brief appeared on the screen. “Our first issue arose when the target, Roman Dubois, arrived on scene unexpectedly.”

“He was supposed to be in Belgium,” Harry supplied.

“Yes,” Mordred confirmed.  “And that, concerns me more that what followed, if I’m being honest.”

“You think there may be a leak,” Merlin stated more than asked, earning himself an annoyed huff from Mordred that Harry wasn’t even going to begin to dissect.

Harry frowned, but neither Arthur nor Mordred made any move to deny the accusation.  It was unthinkable, really, that someone would turn on the organization. 

“I do.  Our new intelligence suggests he was never out of the country at all, and the chain of events is too well timed to be anything but deliberate.  That, however, is to be investigated by Guinevere, Nimue, and myself.” 

Arthur nodded.  “I expect you to keep me updated.  Where is Dubois now?”

“Merlin’s gas was extremely effective.”  Mordred clicked a button on the remote, and the screen changed to footage of Lancelot, outfitted in a gas mask, rolling a gas canister down the very hallway that Harry had attempted to fight his way out of.  Harry sat up straighter in his chair as he watched the footage. Nothing appeared to come out of the canister, but one by one, the men in the hallway fell over. “Thanks to the bugs Lancelot planted while liberating the safe of its contents, we know that no one who was exposed to the gas appears to have any memory of the proceeding hour.”

Merlin appeared to be pleased as he watched the men in the hallway collapse.  “That was the intended effect, even if it wasn’t the ideal method of delivery.  According to my tests, the after effects should feel something along the lines of a nasty hangover.”

“What is the ideal method of delivery, if you don’t mind me asking?”  Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. He couldn’t imagine anything being quite as effective as the footage he’d just watched.

Merlin glanced to Arthur and Mordred before answering.  “It’s this.” He twisted his wrist, and fiddled with his watch for a moment before holding up a small dart, no longer than the tip of his finger for the world to see.  Mordred took it from him to take a closer look, then passed to to Arthur who did the same, before passing it on to Harry. 

He rolled the dart between his fingers, careful not to prick himself with the needle.  “And will we be issued a blow gun to go along with it?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, and held out his hand for the dart to be returned.  Harry dropped it into his palm and watched as Merlin fiddled with his watch once more, before removing it and holding it out to Harry.  He took it, and examined it as he had the dart. It looked like a normal wristwatch, with a digital face, and a single button on the side.  If he hadn’t watched Merlin stow the dart inside, Harry wouldn’t say there was anything remarkable about it at all.

“Careful,” Merlin warned.  “The button acts like a trigger.  The barrel, so to speak is at the front.  Go on then.”

Harry slipped his own wristwatch off, and the new one on.  He looked for the barrel, as he settled it into place, but found nothing.

“Press the top button until the face reads  _ amnesia _ , then press the second to fire.”

“Not at any of us, if you please, Galahad.” Arthur drawled.  “I don’t have the time to repeat this meeting because you dosed one of us.”

That was a pity.  Harry would have rather liked to wipe the knowing look from Mordred’s eyes.  Instead, he took aim at Bors’ chair, and pressed the first button as instructed.  The digital screen changed, to read amnesia, then Harry pressed the second button to fire.  The dart was a blur as it embedded in the back of Bors’ chair.

“Impressive.  What’s the range on the dart?”  Mordred moved from behind Merlin’s seat to examine the dart.

“Around twenty-five meters,” Merlin answered.  “It’s currently a one off, though it doesn’t take long to reload if the situation allows.  I designed it last night however, with missions where your agents might not be otherwise.. _ armed  _ or even  _ dressed.” _

In response to Harry’s botched mission then.  He supposed he might have been able to salvage the situation before it had gotten out of hand by dosing Dubois before he’d had a chance to call his guards, but he would have needed a second dose for the wife, and still would have needed an exit.  There were too many variables, to say for sure if it would have saved him from getting shot, but he couldn’t deny the device would have its uses.

“Excellent,” Arthur praised as he gestured for Harry to show him the watch.  Harry obliged, and let his wrist be manhandled, as Arthur and Mordred examined the timepiece.  “Excellent craftsmanship and utility. When can you have one available for all of our field agents?”    


Merlin seemed to consider that.  “It may be some time, considering my supplemental training is taking up most of my--”

“--or the work can be delegated to the rest of the team, and we can have them produced right away.” Mordred interrupted.  “There’s no need to setback your training for fabrication, dear boy.”

“Indeed.  If you’re half as resourceful as Mordred believes you are, then I want you in Central sooner rather than later,” Arthur added as he released Harry’s wrist.

“No buts,” Mordred interjected as Merlin opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.  Harry couldn’t help but smirk at the man. He’d been on the receiving end of  _ that _ one too many times.  It was nice to see Mordred do it to someone else.  “To get back to our original topic, everyone in the Dubois household appears to have been affected by the gas.  We have no reason to believe they have any memory of  _ what _ happened, however is clear that they know that something  _ did. _  Twenty-seven hours ago, a house-fire was reported at the residence.”

They turned their attention back to the monitor as Mordred clicked away from the footage of Lancelot that had been looping in the background.  The new footage showed the home in flames, burning as firefighters fought to keep the blaze from spreading down the row.

“So they’ve run.”  Harry frowned as he watched the footage.  “Are the documents we retrieved enough to incriminate him?”

“Sadly, no.  He’s far too careful for that.  Our analysts are still sorting through the papers, looking for a lead.”  Mordred sighed. “Otherwise, we’ll just have to wait for him to resurface.”

It didn’t sit well with Harry, just letting Dubois go.  He was too high risk a target to leave unattended for long.  With smuggling and arms dealing already under his belt, who knew how much worse things could get?  Failure weighted heavily on Harry’s shoulders. Arthur sighed, as if sensing Harry’s thoughts. “These things happen, Galahad.  You’re young yet. You’ll learn.”

“Yes, sir.”  Harry was pouting and they were all aware of it.  “And what shall I do while waiting for the rat to resurface?”

Arthur gave him a pointed look.  “Medical has informed me that you are healing well, but they won’t be clearing you for regular duty before the end of the week at least.   _ You _ are going to concentrate on healing and then, when they clear you to do so, you are going to do your physio so you are in top shape when I  _ do _ allow you back in the field.”

He wanted to protest.  If nothing else, he could help with the search, but knew better than to push Arthur while he was speaking with that tone of voice.  “Yes, sir,” Harry sighed, and shifted in his chair, preparing himself to stand.

“Very good.  You’re a fine agent, Galahad.  Don’t let one failure bring you down.  Dismi---”

“One moment, if I may,” Mordred interrupted again.  Arthur glared, but nodded for Mordred to continue. “As I will be heading the search for our unfortunate leak, I won’t have the time to dedicate to the combat portion of Merlin’s training.  Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone, by combining Galahad’s physio with Merlin’s training? What about it, Galahad? Feel up to training our newest handler?”

Harry dropped back into his chair in surprise.  The inch of space felt like a freefall as the movement jolted his side.  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his breath from hitching.

There was no denying that Harry was attracted to Merlin at the most superficial level.  It was all in that split second rush when he’s first laid eyes on the younger man. He had a voice that made Harry shiver, a gaze that hypnotized, and most importantly, he was a mystery.  Merlin had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to find Harry an exit then invade his debriefing. Harry  _ loved _ mysteries.

Training him would mean more time to unravel the mystery, along with the added benefit of Harry getting to put his hands all over him--in a clearly professional way.  Harry  _ was _ a gentleman, after all.

It was dangerous, and a horrible idea really.

Harry smiled.  “Of course. I’d be delighted to help.”

  
  


\--------

Names were interesting things.

For the most part, you didn’t get to pick your own, and it labeled you for the rest of your life.  Hamish felt as if he’d spend his entire existence trying to outrun his.

He considered himself in the mirror as he fumbled with the knot in his tie.

He was named for his father-- a man that he had never met and one that didn’t deserve the dubious honor, but it had been by the grace of that name that he’d been recruited to Kingsman at all.  Bloodlines were important to the organization, and as sullied as Hamish’s was, it still counted.

It kind of put a tarnish on the honor of being recruited if he was being honest.

Hamish turned away from the mirror and cast his eyes down at the small card still sitting on the side table.   He picked it up and ran his finger over the scalloped edges, then down to the script. “Merlin,” he read aloud, then glanced back up at the mirror. 

It was another name that he hadn’t picked for himself.  It was another name with  _ history. _

Kingsman for all it presented itself as a no-nonsense organization with stiff upper lip and penchant for fine suits, had its flair for the dramatic.  Its foibles. Its symbolism. Merlin was a name with all of that, but it was also a name with something else. Merlin was a name with power.

Hamish put the card back down and reached for his jumper.  Perhaps it was daft of him to give this much introspection to a bloody codename, particularly one that he couldn’t seem to remember to answer to even after a week of owning it.  But, the more he looked in the mirror and thought  _ Merlin _ the more he liked it.

“Merlin.”

Merlin  _ was _ a powerful name, and  _ Hamish _ had spent too much of his life feeling as if he were powerless.  It was time to start a new chapter.

He pulled his jumper over his head, his eyes trailing to the card once more before he huffed and headed for the door.

Hamish opened the door, and Merlin closed it behind him. 

It was a name, not a bulletproof suit like the field agents received upon their commission, but he felt as if he was pulling on a new suit of armor all the same.  He liked it. It felt good.

Of course, embracing his codename didn’t change who he was, and that was the low man on the totem pole.  Merlin had just been settling in to his position as an engineer, when the events of the week before had prompted his  _ promotion _ to handler.  Working directly under Mordred, the handlers were a tight-knit group that didn’t look kindly upon Merlin or the circumstances of his promotion.

No one looked up as he entered Central and settled himself at his workstation.  It was smaller than the worktable that he had in engineering, and the desk was dominated by the computer and monitor system that would allow him to communicate and aid the agents; once he was cleared for duty.

That felt like it was going to be a long time coming, however.  His training for the engineering department paled in comparison to the training he was expected to undertake now.  In addition to the secrecy statutes he’d learned during his earlier training, Merlin now needed to know what appeared to be  _ everything.   _ At least he had a head start on all the technology.  The Kingsman tech  _ was _ advanced, but Merlin had had  _ months _ to tear it all apart and put it back together.

He approached his supplementary training in the same fashion.

Merlin blocked out all the noise around him.  The beeping of the monitors and the low voices of his co-workers faded into the background as he narrowed his focus down to the protocol for missions involving royalty.

He was so focused on the proper placement of dinner forks, that he could be forgiven for not noticing the figure that approached his station.  Ultimately, it was the lack of muttered voices in the background that drew his attention. Merlin blinked as he looked up and found Galahad staring down at him, bemused.  “Ah, Galahad, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

_ Rule 47:  The table knights were to be referred to as ‘Sir’ by the support staff. _

“I noticed,” the agent drawled, as he leaned against Merlin’s monitor.  He was loose and long-limbed and took up the small amount of space between Merlin’s workstation and the next, as if he belonged there.  “We have an appointment for your training, or have you forgotten?”

The peanut gallery, all crowded at one workstation behind them, twittered.  Merlin glanced at them, then the clock and sighed. He’d lost track of time,  _ again. _  “No, sir.  I haven’t forgotten.”  He closed out the information packet he’d been reading, then stood, giving a full body stretch.

Merlin didn’t miss the way Galahad’s eyes drifted along his body as he did so.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation.  He’d noticed it before, the way Galahad’s eyes kept drifting towards him during their debrief, though the man had remained mostly professional, and had never looked for long.  The way the man’s brown eyes lingered sent a rush of  _ something _ through Merlin, for sure.  He couldn’t say that it was disgust, or even lust.  It was  _ worry _ .  Getting involved with a man was messy enough, but with a coworker?  That was a recipe for disaster.

Alright, that he was even considering it that way, maybe there was a small bit of lust.  Galahad was an  _ attractive _ man.

Merlin already stuck out in the organization like a sore thumb.  He didn’t want to be known about as the bastard Scot who  _ liked men, _ on top of everything else wrong about him.

So, just as he had during the debrief, Merlin pushed that little niggling feeling in his stomach aside.  Nothing was going to happen. Nothing could be allowed to happen, and Galahad was just a flirt by nature; Mordred had warned him of as much.  The flirting wasn’t even personal. He surely did it to everyone.

“Good.  Come along then, I’ll show you the way to the training rooms, and you can meet me there tomorrow.”

Dagonet was still snickering as the two of them walked by, but stopped short as Galahad’s gaze turned steely.  “Perhaps if you worked as hard as Merlin appears to, Dagonet, the incident that lead to my injury would never have happened.  Think on that, won’t you?” He held the door open for Merlin, and waited for him to pass by before letting it softly close behind them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Merlin sighed as he fell into step with the agent.  “I’m capable of fighting my own battles.”

Galahad smiled.  “No, I didn’t. But you weren’t going to, and while that’s… commendable in the effort of keeping the peace, it’s not needed.  You’ve yet to put up with my shit, don’t put up with theirs.” He squeezed Merlin’s shoulder, then, as he was dropping his hand back to his side, brushed it across Merlin’s arse.

Merlin’s steps faltered, but Galahad continued on down the hall without him, as if nothing had happened, and Merlin had to put a bit of bounce into his step to catch up.  “Ah, I’ll take that into consideration,” he stammered, looking over at Galahad from the corner of his eyes. Maybe he imagined it, or perhaps it had been an accident?

Either way, Galahad was acting as if nothing had happened--except, he was watching Merin again.  “See that you do. With a voice like yours, I’m sure you’ll have them all begging to submit in no time.  I know you made  _ me _ want to lie back and show my belly.”

Merlin’s step faltered again, and he couldn’t control it; he blushed.  His mind was filled with the mental image of Galahad doing just that.

Galahad’s step was more a triumphant  _ strut _ at he walked on in front of Merlin once more.

“Fucking peacock,” Merlin grunted as he took three quick steps to catch up.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sir.”

The training facility took up an entire level of the lower Kingsman compound.  While much of it was open for all staff to utilize, a section of it was portioned off for the Knights only.  Galahad stopped when they reached this section and used his key card to grant them entry. Merlin followed him inside, taking in the state of the art facility.  On the surface it didn’t appear to be much different than the areas set aside for general use, but on closer inspection, it was clear that more thought had been put into the space, making it both pleasing to be in, and functional.

Galahad led him towards a sectioned off area, again using his keycard to gain entry.

The room appeared to be a  _ pub,  _ complete with bar and glasses already on the tables. Merlin picked up a nearby glass and examined it.  He’d almost hoped, that the room was a computer power simulation. He would have loved to get his hands on the tech that made  _ that _ possible, but no, the glass was real, or at least it felt that way.

Galahad smiled at him, and perched on one of the barstools.  “Not what you were expecting?”

“No.  A gym, or a dojo, perhaps.  What is all of this then?” Merlin moved deeper into the room, poking at things, just to be sure.

“This is training room A,” Galahad explained.  His eyes tracked Merlin as he moved about the room.  “Kingsman Agents train in various settings, though you’d be right.  Most recruits start in a more standard setting. I just happen to be rather fond of this space.  I hope you don’t mind.”

Merlin shook his head.  “This is fine.” He checked the time on his watch.  Even if it wasn’t, they’d already wasted so much of the time he had allotted for this training.  “Where do we begin?”

Galahad slid down from the barstool and stood square with Merlin.  “The Kingsman fighting style is a form of bartitsu that has been passed through the organization since its founding.  Recruits are taught the basic forms during their trails, and then are left to expand it to their own preferences.” He was a gifted speaker, Merlin would give him that.  All signs of his earlier flirtation were gone in favor of cool professionalism.

Merlin mirrored his motions as Galahad moved to the center of the room and began to take him through the forms.  They weren’t difficult, but Galahad was an exacting instructor. That suited Merlin just fine. He had a tendency to want to take things apart and see how they worked at their most basic level, and this was the same concept.  It was refreshing, almost, to work with someone that could tolerate his need for perfection. No, not tolerate. Match it. 

It was unexpected from the agent that had been casting him lingering glances and trying to make him blush, but Galahad was nothing but a patient teacher.  The only times he touched Merlin were to correct his stance or demonstrate how the move followed through.

Their hour together passed quickly, and Merlin was surprised when the timer on his watch buzzed, signaling their time was at an end.  They’d done nothing but repeat the forms, barely even moving, but Merlin felt as if he’d gone through a full work out. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve and did his best not to glare at Galahad, who was just as perfect as he’d been when he walked into Central.

“Pity,” Galahad drawled, the corner of his lip creeping upwards as his stance loosened.  It was as if he had flipped a switch, and the incorrigible flirt returned. “I thought you’d have more stamina.”

Merlin huffed.  “I’ll show you stamina.”

Galahad’s smirk grew into a wide smile.  “Oh? Will you?” He tossed Merlin a water bottle, before popping the top of a second for himself.  Merlin pulled his open with his teeth, and took a long drag from the top. “I’m afraid that will have to wait until next week.  Medical hasn’t cleared me for sparring just yet, which is all the more the pity. I could use a good tussle, and you do appear to be  _ quite sturdy. _ ”

He didn’t leer. Hell, he didn’t do anything but smile at Merlin with his innocent doe eyes shining, but he might as well of had, for all the suggestion in his tone.   _ Don’t take it personally _ , Merlin reminded himself.  He’s just a flirt. Two could play at that game, even if Merlin were more awkward about it.

“Well, then I suppose you’ll just have to wait to find out,” he drawled in return, his tone deadpan in comparison.

Galahad seemed delighted.  His eyes widened, and Merlin could just see the slightest peak of tongue as he licked his lips.  He took a dainty sip from his water bottle. “It gives me something to look forward to.”

The next alarm on Merlin’s watched beeped, and to be frank, he was thankful for the interruption.  “I have an appointment with Mordred in ten minutes,” he explained. “I should go wash up. Thank you for your time, Galahad.”

“Of course.”  Galahad answered with a nod as he reached out and took Merlin’s hand to shake, even though he hadn’t offered it.  “Though, since we’ll be spending so much time together, perhaps you should call me Harry.”

It wasn’t a question even though it almost sounded like one.  Merlin Blinked in surprise and inadvertently gave Galahad’s hand a squeeze.  “Ah, if that’s what you would like.”

“I would,” Harry confirmed.  He still hadn’t released Merlin’s hand.  “Codenames in the field, of course, but if it’s just the two of us..” He trailed off into a bit of silence and he looked down to where Merlin hadn’t yet let go of his hand.

Merlin flushed and released it.

“You know,” Galahad began after the silence stretched on.  “This is customarily where one might offer their own name in return.”

Merlin bit at his bottom lip as he thought it over.  He thought about the baggage and the anger. He thought about standing in front of the mirror that morning with the card in his hands.  He thought, and then he shook his head. “No. It’s just Merlin. I’ve no other name that matters anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.  Don’t  _ you _ be late.”

\--------

 

Harry was still confined to light duty, so he picked up Mr. Pickle from the kennels and decided to go on a light jog to work out some of his  _ frustrations.   _ At least he could always count on the dog to love him.

They made it through a lap through the front gardens before Harry was joined by Percival and Bors.  “Well, if it isn’t our little Galahad,” Bors drawled as he drew up on Harry’s left. Percival bracketed him in by matching his pace on the right.  “Fresh out of medical after managing to get himself shot. Did you cry, baby agent?”

Harry scoffed and made to retort, but Percival gently nudged him.  “He only asks because he cried,” he whispered conspiratorially, then both senior agents broke out into wide grins.

Bors gave him a rough pat on the back without even breaking stride.  “Just taking the piss out of you, Galahad. Something’s got you wound up.  Is it because you needed a rescue, because shit happens, lad. It’s the whole reason Tristan has a job at all.”

“Something like that,” Harry groused, unwilling to admit to the older agents that he was horny, and Mordred’s new shadow was  _ hot.   _ They wouldn’t understand; straight as rails, the both of them.

“Well then, cheer up.”  Percival nudged him again.  “Because it’s pub night and the first round of drinks is on Lancelot.  Seven o’clock at the King’s Corner, and don’t be late or the second round’s on you.”

Bors laughed.  “Who are you kidding, Percy?  The boy’s always late. Second round’s on you, baby agent, and if you’re lucky, I’ll get you a shirley temple for the third.”

He should be used to the digs about his age, but Harry scowled anyway.  The next youngest agent was Tristan, who was a decade older than Harry and didn’t have a place at the table, anyway.  Most of those that sat at the table were well into their thirties, ranging up to Bors who was nearly sixty. They’d all been young, fresh recruits once, but you couldn’t remind them of that.

Bors was also picking up the pace and effortlessly putting distance between them.    


Mr. Pickle strained at his leash to go with them, but Harry pulled tight.  He was just out of Medical, and despite what the others thought of him, he wasn’t going to endanger his recovery for a pissing contest.

The older knights waved back at him over their shoulders as Percival called back one last time.  “Seven p.m. Galahad, and dress appropriately!”

Harry slowed to a stop and bent over the scoop up Mr. Pickle as the others continued on their way.  The terrier immediately began to lick the underside of his his chin. Harry cradled him close to his chest.  “Dress appropriately,” he mocked as he turned to walk back to headquarters. He couldn’t have a proper soak because of his stitches, but perhaps a quick shower followed by a lengthy wank would improve his mood.  “What do you say, Mr. Pickle? The leopard print leotard or the pink crochet shorts?”

Mr. Pickle didn’t bark, he was too well trained for that, but he did give Harry’s chin another lick.  “Leopard print leotard it is.”

  
  


Harry did not wear the leopard print leotard.

He also didn’t arrive on time.

The King’s Corner was a pub a few blocks away from the Kingsman store front.  It was technically a public establishment, but was owned and staffed by the organization  Somewhere along the line, Kingsman realized its staff needed a  _ safe _ place to unwind, and they provided.  The entrance to the back room was hidden in the men’s restroom, and led to a second bar where the agents didn’t have to watch themselves quite so closely.

Harry let himself in to the backroom, dressed in a sensible jumper and slacks,  _ and _ almost twenty minutes late.  Bors, Percival, Guinevere, Lancelot, and Gawain were seated in the large corner booth, already on the second round, if the two glasses left untouched at the end of the table for Harry were any indication.

“Galahad!”  They raised their glasses in a toast as he approached the table and slid into the seat next to Percival. 

“Gentlemen,” Harry replied, raising one of the waiting glasses.  “Guinevere, lovely to see you as always.” He took a sip of the whiskey and savored the burn.  Gawain slipped Percival a fiver.

“You’ll be buying the  _ third _ round,” Bors grinned, wagging a finger in Harry’s direction.  “You’re late.”

“But fashionably so,” Harry protested as he gestured to his jumper.  He signaled the barkeep to bring the next round while he was at it, then went back to nursing his first glass.  “I made a stop by medical to get my stitches checked.”

“That’s right,” Gawain cried out.  “Your first gunshot wound. “Barkeep!  A shot of your worst for the baby agent!”

“Hear hear!”  The rest cried out, as Lancelot scowled.

“Don’t encourage him,” he grumbled as he emptied his glass.

Chester King was a downer.  He was Harry’s sponsor during the Galahad trials, but had little interest in Harry aside what he could do for his  _ image _ .  He was distantly related to Harry’s mother somehow, and considered the sponsorship a favor that he expected to be repaid.  They got along well enough until  _ Lancelot _ began to get annoyed at Harry’s idiocracies.  Now, Harry couldn’t help but needle him at every opportunity.

“He’s right,” Harry agreed, face solemn.  “You shouldn’t encourage me, as I have it on good authority, that I will take  _ shameless advantage _ of it.”

“Take  _ shameless advantage _ of anything on two legs is more like it,” Gawain snarked.    


The new round of drinks arrived and were distributed around the table. 

“Also true,” Harry grinned as he took his shot, and nearly spat it back out in the middle of a coughing fit.  The others laughed as Gawain scowled and slipped Percival another fiver.

“Maybe if you didn’t take so much  _ advantage _ , you wouldn’t have gotten caught with your pants down and needed a rescue,” Lancelot growled as he leaned back against the seat, and looked down his nose at Harry with a bit of a cruel smirk.

Guinevere and Bors nudged him from both sides.  “Don’t make me tell him about December of ‘72,” Guinevere continued, and Lancelot’s smirk faded into a scowl.

“You can’t tell him about ‘72.  It’s classified.”

She raised a brow at him.  He looked down at his glass, and Harry snickered into his.

Across the room, the door opened, and Mordred along with several other members of the support staff walked in.  Harry’s eyes were drawn to Merlin, dressed once more in a jumper and tie that was identical to the one that he wore during the debriefing, just a bit rumpled and annoyed.  His sleeves were pushed up around his forearms, and how desperate was Harry that  _ that _ was making his mouth water?

He drained the rest of the glass, and started in with the third; now caught up with the rest of the group.

“Ah, they’re playing my song!”  Guinevere smiled to see the new group, and shimmied her way out of the booth.  “You lads don’t have too much fun without me.”

“No, Gwennie!  Don’t you love us?”  Percival’s eyes were on the new group as well, a soft smile on his face, that he quickly covered by sipping from his drink and turning his gaze back towards the table.

“Of course I do  _ Percy, _ ” Guinevere smiled, and leaned over Harry to give him a kiss right on the top of his bald head.  “I just love Mordred more. I’ll give him your best.” She weaved between the tables, both empty and occupied, to get to the new group.  Mordred smiled and everyone at the table stood, as she crossed around behind them, mussing Merlin’s hair as she passed.

They all sat down together, just in time for the barkeep to bring their drinks.  Harry had to look away, as Merlin brought the pint of Guinness to his lips.

_ This _ was a problem, and one that he needed to get taken care of before it became a bigger one.  At least no one at  _ his _ table seemed to have noticed his lusting.

He could only hope that selective blindness lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to only post updates on Mondays, but had a shit day, and said, hey, why not post a chapter. Thank you all for your comments and kudos. They really brighten my day, and thank you everyone who's made it this far for giving the fic a chance! I hope you all continue to enjoy the fic as things progress!
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr @ [fvckingspecatcvlar](https://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com/). Feel free to poke at me, or even prompt me, if there's something you'd like to see in this verse that you're not seeing in the fic ;p
> 
> Next Chapter: The boys continue their training routine, and things get a bit _hot._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cycle of lust, I mean _training_ continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some light homophobia.

Harry woke with a pounding headache, a rebelling stomach, and Bors’ name on the tip of his tongue, followed by a string of curses that weren’t fit for a gentleman of his status, but that Bors well deserved.  Fucking Bors. He couldn't even remember returning to his quarters, but he  _ did _ have a very vivid image of the older agent plying him with shots.

He pushed up out of bed, and dragged a hand through his hair, before he caught sight of the time and cursed.  Harry might have been on medical leave, but he also had a standing appointment with Merlin for their training session, and if he didn’t get moving, he was going to be late.

He stumbled into his bathroom, took the pills Nimue prescribed for his bullet wound, and crossed his fingers that they would help with his headache as well.  After that, Harry covered his stitches. He’d have just enough time for a quick shower if he skipped breakfast and headed straight to Central.

Nevermind that he wanted nothing more than to just crawl back into bed.

He made sure there was no outward sign of his  _ distress, _ as he strolled into Central as if he owned the place, only to find that Merlin wasn’t there.

Mordred and Gwen gave him twin grins over the top of their clipboards.  “The hero emerges,” Mordred teased, as he passed off his clipboard to Guenievre.  She stacked it on top of her own, then turned to head back down towards the offices.  “We weren’t sure that we’d be seeing you today, as you drank your weight in whiskey last night.”

“I’m may be a bit more than fashionably late, but I notice that Merlin isn’t at his desk either.”  Harry didn’t scowl. He was better than that.

“He went down to the gyms to meet you,” Mordred explained, the twinkle in his eyes betraying the glee he was feeling on Harry’s behalf.  “If you hurry, you might still catch him before he loses his patience and leaves.”

Harry wasn’t better than that.  He scowled even as his spine straightened.  “I suppose I’ll do that then. He doesn’t seem to be the type to have much patience.”

Mordred laughed.  “You might be surprised.  Have fun Galahad.”

“I’m sure it will be thrilling,” Harry called back, as he turned to head  _ back _ downstairs.  Inside his head he was screaming.  The medication had done wonders for his pain, but it couldn’t seem to touch his foul mood, and the world just seemed to be stacked against him.

At least, he was yet to run into Bors, though Percival did shoot him a knowing grin-- one that was almost eerily reminiscent of Mordred’s-- as they crossed paths in the hallway. 

He found Merlin right where Mordred said he would, standing by the access point to be allowed into the Agent’s gym, what Mordred had failed to mention was how the younger man was dressed.

“Are those your pajamas,” Harry asked as he let them into the gym.  It appeared that his day was starting to look up. He tried not to let his gaze linger, but Merlin’s arms were surprisingly defined for someone who spent his days sitting at a desk, and the pants hung low on his waist-- _ and draped. _  Christ, but he wanted to see  _ more  _ of his mysterious sparring partner. “I thought I told you that it would be best to continue training in your everyday clothing?”

Merlin let out a snort, as he often did when Harry was being ridiculous.  “They’re something I can move in.”

Harry tsked.  “You’re not always going to be in something that you can move in, when you’re attacked.”

“True,” Merlin agreed.  “But once I complete my training, I have the feeling that I’m not going to be seeing much more than Central’s perfect white walls.  I’m told it’s the safest place in headquarters.”

“And yet, Mordred requested you to be trained in combat.  Do you think four safe walls is what Mordred has planned for your future,” Harry insisted as he moved around the room, pushing some of the tables and chairs to the side.  Merlin joined him in clearing the space. Later, he’d teach Merlin how to use the cluttered environment to his advantage, but today was session two, and Harry was hungover.

“I have no idea what he’s got planned for my future,” Merlin admitted, as they pushed the last table to the side.  “Not sure  _ he _ knows what he has planned.  I was hired, well, I’m not even sure I can tell you what I was hired for, but it wasn’t brawling with a  _ spy _ in a fake pub.”

Harry huffed and leaned back against the bar.  “I’d hardly call what we’re doing brawling.”

“I’ve seen the video of you fighting the other recruits during your trails.  You’re teaching me how to brawl.” Merlin raised a brow, daring Harry to disagree.   


Harry didn’t have the energy to do so.  Instead, he smiled around the upset in his stomach and purred, “You’ve been watching me then?  I’m flattered. Do you remember the stretches from yesterday?”

“Of course,” Merlin rolled his eyes, and began the sequence.  Harry watched from his perch, and even through his hangover, continued to admire the way the man’s arse looked in those thin cotton pants. “And it was part of this morning’s information packet.  I didn’t have time to watch much, but I thought seeing you in action was the most relevant of the clips they sent me for this morning.”

There was a tone to Merlin’s voice, that Harry couldn’t unravel.  He just didn’t know the man well enough to suss out the meaning, but it piqued his interest through his hangover haze enough to draw his gaze away from Merlin’s arse to his face.  He wasn’t looking at Harry, as he bent clear in half, and there were Harry’s eyes going right back to his arse again.

It was just  _ that _ distracting.

But Harry hadn’t missed the look of concentration of Merlin’s face before he bent.  Just that moment’s flash had been enough to make Harry’s breath catch in his chest. Why did Merlin have to be so  _ intense _ in everything he did?  Those narrowed eyes once again set off butterflies in Harry’s chest.

Or perhaps it was just his rolling stomach, brought to him by one too many shots of whiskey and pain pills on an empty stomach.  Harry curled an arm around his middle. 

At least the butterflies weren’t as noticeable as the stirring in his groin.

“Alright.  Show me the first form.”

Merlin curled out of the bended position, with less grace than Harry would have, but an economy of movement that he couldn’t help but admire.  He arranged himself into the ready position, his stance perfect, but not yet natural. That would only come with time and repetition.

The second, at least, Harry could give him.

They ran the forms for half an hour in relative quiet before Merlin broke and cast a glance towards Harry.  “You’re less active today. Feeling alright,  _ hero?” _

Harry blinked, then frowned, as he recalled his short conversation with Mordred.  “That’s the second time today someone has called me that, the first being your mentor.”

Merlin grinned, never faltering in his steps as he transitioned between a block and a hit.  It was clear that he’d had  _ some _ training before Harry got his figurative hands on him, but like everything else about the man, it was hard to pinpoint the style.  “So you don’t remember then. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will all come back to you once you sober up a bit more.”

“I’d like to say that’s the first time I’ve heard that before, but I believe we’d both know that to be a lie.” Harry stood up a bit straighter, never one to show weakness in the face of teasing.

“No, the way you put those shots back speaks of plenty of practice.  You’re very skilled.” 

“Practice makes perfect,”  Harry laughed. “And your foot is turned too far to the left.  Start over.”

Merlin scowled at him, but did as he was told, going back to position one to begin the sequence again.  “Whatever you say,  _ hero. _ ”

“You’re all in trouble when I recall just what that means.”  They shared a smile, and when they parted ways fifteen minutes later, Harry’s mood was much improved.  He wondered why that was, as he made the trip up to the cafeteria to finally appease the rolling in his stomach.  Merlin was spectacular to look at, and Harry  _ was _ a bit hard up at the moment, but a little eyecandy alone shouldn’t have been enough to bolster him.

No.  It was the ease of the banter between them that lifted his spirits, and wasn’t  _ that _ strange?  Just what was Harry getting himself into?

 

\---------------

 

Sparring sessions with Harry turned out to be the closest thing Merlin got to a break during the day, as his training started in full.

Each morning, he woke to a new information packet to review as he ate breakfast.  Then, he met Harry for sparring and had just enough time after the session to squeeze in a shower before he was due in the hangar for pilot lessons.  He ran sims there until lunchtime, where he had a little time to finish that morning’s packet before he continued on to the  _ shadow _ portion of his day.  The next hours were spent either on monitor duty with Dagonet, following Guinevere around like a puppy, or observing Mordred as he  _ ran Kingsman _ .

He shared dinner with Mordred more nights than not, testing Merlin’s recall of not only that morning’s information packet, but two days ago, a week ago, and so on. 

“Grab your coat and meet me at the tube in ten minutes,” Mordred ordered as he turned over the monitor to Dagonet for the evening.  “We’re eating out.” With that he gave Merlin a squeeze on the shoulder, and disappeared down the hall. Dagonet glared at him, as if being invited out was Merlin’s fault, but didn’t comment-- at least not to Merlin’s face.

Merlin stopped by the communal bathrooms to freshen up a little, then continued on to his room.  Mordred might treat Galahad’s lack of punctuality as an amusing quirk, but the same wasn’t for  _ anyone _ else.   


He made it to the tube with two minutes to spare.   


Through the window, he could see Dagonet and Guinevere bent low over a monitor, but their expressions were relaxed, so it couldn’t mean trouble.  Dagonet  _ might _ even have been smiling, though if asked, Merlin would maintain that it wasn’t possible.

Mordred arrived at ten minutes on the dot with Percival in tow.

Though they were both in their “working” attire, the both of them seemed more casual just for being near the other.  Merlin didn’t have long to think on it before they bracketed him on each side, and ushered him into the tube. “Is this a kidnapping,” he couldn’t help but ask as his stomach lurched.

“No, and it’s not a test either, before your mind goes there, you paranoid little thing,” Mordred scoffed.  “It’s a dinner out with colleagues.”

“And perhaps a lesson on dinner etiquette,” Percival added with a kind smile, that Merlin was sure was more for Mordred than it was himself.

Merlin scowled.  If this was going to be humiliating, he would have rathered stay in headquarters for it, where the only people that would be around to mock him were the present company and perhaps Dagonet-- Harry if Merlin was unlucky.  “At least tell me that we’re going somewhere that I can pronounce the dishes.”

“I make no promises,” Mordred teased.   


Once in London, they didn’t walk far before Mordred led them into a restaurant that Merlin figured to be business casual, if the people exiting were any indication.  It was an establishment that Percival wouldn’t look out of place in, still wearing his suit, but that Mordred and Merlin in their more casual jumpers wouldn’t be underdressed in either.

The dining room was one large open area, all tables with white tablecloths in neat rows, and nowhere to hide.

Merlin felt uncomfortable already.  While the restaurant wasn’t above his pay grade, so to speak, it was the kind of place he tended to avoid.  It wasn’t the sixties anymore, but the higher brow the place, the darker looks Merlin’s accent tended to draw.  He was more comfortable in the pubs and diners of his youth.

They sat in the middle of the room.

Mordred and Percival took seats opposite each other, leaving Merlin to sit between them.  The fourth place setting was left in front of the empty chair, causing Merlin to frown. “Are we waiting for someone?”

“Always,” Percival sighed.  “Don’t worry. He’ll show up sometime through the first course.”

Mordred ordered the wine and the appetizer.  “Ronald,” he said, tone casual as he looked up at Percival with a pointed look.  Now, far as Merlin was aware,  _ Ronald _ was  _ not _ Percival’s name, but the man didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, Alfred?”   _ Alfred _ was also  _ not _ Mordred’s name, but he smiled all the same.

“How many members of the waitstaff are in the room?”

Merlin started to glance around the room, trying to get a count, but Percival didn’t miss a beat.  “Four.” Merlin confirmed it a second later.

Mordred hummed, then turned his attention to Merlin.  “Alright, Connor. How many pocket squares?”

Merlin blinked, and started to turn, only for Mordred to stop him.  “No. You’ve already seen what you need, to answer the question. Close your eyes, and think about it.”  He felt like a fool, but Merlin did as he was told. It was a slow process, but he was able to recreate a mental picture of the room.

The maitre d’, was the first, then the businessmen sitting at the tables.  “Eleven,” he said at length. “No, twelve.” He opened his eyes again, to find Mordred and Percival smiling at him.  “Well?”

“Close, there’s thirteen,” Percival informed him.

“But good for a first attempt,” Mordred soothed.  “We already know that your recall is near perfect,” he went on.  “And that you are well versed in picking out small details. But, you still need to hone both skills.  Your memory is a tool, as much as any computer, watch, or firearm. Use it. Make a habit of creating a snapshot any time you enter a room.  Look for the details.”

“Haircuts are useful for keeping track of people,” Percival added, helpfully. 

“Exits are just as important.  How many in this room?”

This time, Merlin stopped himself from turning to look, and closed his eyes again.  It went a little quicker this time. He recreated the room in his minds’ eye and cast his gaze about that way.  “There’s the door we came through, the door to the kitchen, and the entryway to the restrooms. So, three, or four depending on how you count the restroom doors?”

“Five at the least, never count out the window,” a new voice corrected.  Merlin opened his eyes to find Harry sliding into the spot across from him, framed by the wall of tinted windows that made the front wall of the restaurant.

“How nice of you to join us, Stephan,” Mordred drawled before Merlin could open his mouth.  The waiter left the appetizer, and poured Harry a glass of wine.

“Forgive me, Alfred,” Harry smiled.  “I’m afraid I got lost on the road of life.”

Seeing Harry, so loose and happy inspired the same flash of lust in Merlin that he felt every morning, when he saw the man soft and tired.  Merlin swallowed a gulp of wine around the feeling and pushed it away.

Harry was just so… so…

Out of Merlin’s league.

“Well, while you were  _ lost _ I ordered for the lot of us, so you’ll have to live with my choices.”  Mordred sipped his wine as Percival helped himself to the food on the table.

“I’m not worried,” Harry laughed as he took up the wineglass.  “You have impeccable taste, Alfred. Are we still playing the memory game?”

Mordred looked pleased, and what followed was the strangest dinner of Merlin’s life.  They were in the restaurant for  _ hours, _ picking out details about the room, about the patrons-- anything that could be counted, until Merlin could echo back the details within a reasonable amount of time.  That was all interspaced with  _ conversation. _  The words sounded like regular table chatter--colleagues complaining about the office-- but it didn’t take Merlin long to suss out the code they were  _ really _ speaking in.  Even their names, Alfred, Stephan, Connor, and Ronald were part of the code.

Mordred looked so proud when Merlin added to the conversation, “My printer ran out of toner.”

They were finishing desert when Merlin’s watch buzzed, and signaled an end to the game.  It was time for the last training session for the day; his apprenticeship in the tailoring shop.   


“You’d best be getting back to the shop,” Mordred said, eyes bright as he ate another spoonful of chocolate mousse.  “Lamorak will have you by the ears if you’re late.”

“I’ll walk him home,” Harry volunteered, starting to stand when Merlin did.

“Do I get any say in this?” Merlin asked, without any real ire.  He was too full to be cross.

“No,” all three men replied in unison. 

“You’re too young to be about on your own,” Percival added with a wry smirk.

Scratch that, Merlin could be cross.  “He’s hardly any older than I am.”

“But old enough to drink the wine at dinner,” Harry teased in return, eyes as bright as Mordred’s as Merlin’s scowl deepened.  “Come along, Connor. It’s a school night.”

Merlin didn’t follow because Harry demanded it.  Nor, did he follow because Mordred and Percival were laughing at him.  No, he followed because Mordred was right, and Lamorak would murder him with a smile on his face if Merlin was late.  “Goodnight, Alfred. Ronald. Thank you for dinner.”

“Goodnight, Connor.  Have a good lesson.” It was Percival that smiled and waved them off.  Mordred merely raised a brow, as if to say,  _ I’ve already dismissed you, why are you still here? _  “Stephan.  Try not to get into trouble.”

“I make no promises,”  Harry chirped in return before turning on his heel.  Merlin followed him back out into the street. It had gotten dark in the time that they were inside.  It was almost surprising. Merlin knew it had been hours, but to see physical proof of the time spent was jarring.

What did it say about him that he was getting used to his days passing underneath the constant shine of Central’s overhead lights?

They made most of the walk in silence.

Before tonight, Merlin might not have thought Harry capable of going more than a few minutes without speaking, or at least attempting to show off, but here he was, walking alongside Merlin, quiet as he could be and looking just  _ content _ at the world.  Merlin wondered what it was like, feeling that way.

However it was, it looked  _ good _ on Harry, and had a magnetizing effect on Merlin.  Now, more than when Harry was strutting and crowing, he had trouble looking away.

If Harry knew that he wasn’t looking, he didn’t call Merlin on it, a fact for which Merlin was thankful.  It wasn’t right, the way he felt when he looked at Harry. The man was a co-worker, his superior even,  _ and _ a man at that.

They were halfway to the shop, when it began to drizzle.  The first drop had scant hit Merlin’s nose, when Harry opened the umbrella that was so part of his person that Merlin hadn’t even given it’s presence an ounce of notice, and held it above them.  Merlin squinted up at the dome, then trailed his eyes down to notice the Kingsman emblem attached to the handle. When it came to Kingsman, nothing was as it seemed, and Merlin had a feeling the umbrella was no different.  “What’s special about it, then?”

Harry smiled.  “Not much. It’s reinforced for combat--a baton, and the dome is made from the same material as my suit.”

Merlin looked back up towards the dome, considering the umbrella, and reclassifying it mentally as a weapon.  That they used it at all was brilliant, but the more Merlin looked at it, the more he saw what it  _ could _ be.  “Bulletproof?”

“Light calibur, yes.”

“Hm.”  They approached the shop, and stepped inside.   


Lamorak looked up at them from the desk, his expression stern, until he saw that Harry was with Merlin.

It was the secret rule of Kingsman.   _ Everyone _ was fond of Agent Galahad.

“You were almost late, Merlin,” Lamorak admonished.  “But now I see why. Don’t go infecting him with your bad habits, Galahad.”

Harry beamed at the older man, as he made his way deeper into the store, no doubt heading for the tube that would take him back to headquarters.  “I can’t help that Merlin has excellent taste in dinner companions.”

“I was ordered to arrive, and had no idea that you were invited,” Merlin deadpanned, but couldn’t keep the corner of his lip from turning up.

“Cheeky,” Harry huffed in return, though his smile was wide and his eyes were bright.  “I ensure you make it home safe, and you give me cheek. Lamorak, he’s yours. I can’t do anything for him.”  He didn’t throw his hands in the air, or make any move that might be unseemly, but Merlin could  _ hear _ the movement in his voice.  “Goodnight, Merlin!” He called, as he let himself into the dressing room.

“Goodnight, Sir.”

“The lad’s a whirlwind,” Lamorak sighed, as he ushered Merlin into the backroom.  “I’m tired and I hardly had time to say hello to him.  _ You _ must be exhausted.”

Merlin stepped out from behind Lamorak to retrieve the book of swatches he’d been working with the day before.  “Something like that,” he agreed, thinking instead of the moment of quiet they’d shared, and the umbrella that was constantly on Harry’s arm. Exhausted wasn’t the word for what he was feeling.

Merlin shoved said feeling aside, in favor of focusing on the idea that was beginning to take shape. 

“Lamorak, before you go.  I have a few questions.”

 

\-----------------

 

Harry opened his eyes after a good night’s sleep in an excellent mood.

He woke early enough to have a lengthy wank before he rolled out of bed and put a proper start to his day.  His morning run was fulfilling, his breakfast delicious, and his shower glorious. Even Mr. Pickle seemed to agree that today was going to be a  _ good _ day, as he trotted in front of Harry through the halls.

Today was sure to be the day he got put back on active duty.

He was two minutes early for his appointment.   _ Two minutes. _

“Galahad, it’s nice to see you punctual for once,” Nimue greeted him as he walked through the sliding doors. “You know the procedure.”

“But I do so love to hear you walk me through it,” Harry grinned.  Still, he stripped off his suit jacket, shucked his shirt, then took a seat on the table without further prompting.   


“Still incorrigible.  I suppose I can mark brain damage off the list.”  Nimue took his vitals before checking him with the scanner, and finally ran her hands over the fading wound.  Harry bore it all with barely contained energy. Nothing twinged, or beeped. He had to be in the clear.

“I appreciate beauty in all its forms,” he said as Nimue pressed against his side.  “And your voice is like the sound of angels. I’d know, near death experience, and all.”

Nimue gave him a vicious little pinch that had Harry jumping, and nearly knocking over a nearby tray.  “You were barely grazed. I think it had stopped bleeding, for the most part, before you even got to my table.”

“Yet, it’s been over two weeks, and you  _ still _ haven’t cleared me for duty,” Harry pointed out.

“I’m well aware of that, thank you.  You can put your shirt back on.” She stepped away to begin noting her findings in Harry’s chart, without sharing with the rest of the class just what those findings were.  Unacceptable. Nimue smiled at him, knowing exactly what he silence was doing to him.

Just for that Harry  _ wasn’t _ going to ask.  He could wait.

He took his time doing up his shirt buttons and tucking the tails back into his trousers.  Nimue continued to make notes on his chart.

Harry slid down from the table, and shrugged his jacket back on.

Nothing.

“Well?” He said at last, unable to take it any longer.  He lost the waiting game every time, and from Nimue’s smug look, she knew it too.

“So kind of you to ask, Galahad.  Your scans are clear, your vitals in the normal range, and the site is showing marked improvement.  You are, however, still far too skinny.” The old argument couldn’t bring Harry’s mood down. He beamed in Nimue’s direction. “Put that smile away.  All I can do is make my recommendation. It’s Arthur’s decision in the end, when you go back into the field.” 

“But you  _ will _ make the recommendation?”

“I’ll send it now if that will get you out of my hair.  You’re an absolute menace, you know that?” Nimue was frowning, but there was no real heat to her words-- only exasperated fondness, which was an emotion Harry excelled at eliciting.

“But you love me anyway,” he snarked in return.

“Love is a very strong word, Agent Galahad.”  Nimue tried for stern, and did a passable job of it.  “Now, begone with you. You have a sparring session to get to, do you not?”

Harry blinked.  “Does everyone know about it?”

Nimue’s smile returned, though it was a touch bittersweet, as she turned her back to Harry to move further into medical.  “Mordred is  _ very _ proud of his new protege.  I’ve not seen him this excited about something since we introduced the new signet rings into the arsenal.”

“That was  _ years  _ ago.  Before my time even.”

“Exactly.  Goodbye, Agent Galahad.”

“Goodbye Nimue, and thank you.”  Harry let himself out of Medical and headed down to the gym with Merlin on his mind.  That wasn’t an oddity as of late, for whatever reason the Scot seemed to dominate his thoughts since they met.  Harry blamed the medical leave. Being barred from missions, the gym,  _ and _ the range, left him with far too much free time.

He had Mr. Pickle, and he had his butterflies, but neither were much help when it came to his dick. Thank God, for that.

Merlin wasn’t much help either, though the younger man was nice to look at, and even nicer to listen to.  He could read the phonebook, and Harry would be rock hard. Harry was a bit of an audiophile like that. He enjoyed unique voices, and Merlin’s rumbling brogue was almost at odds with his compact, slightly nerdy package.  He’d fueled more than a few of Harry’s most recent wank fantasies.

No more than that, though not for lack of Harry trying.  He’d been subtle about it, you had to be when it came to flirting with men, but Merlin had either missed his flirtations, or was flat out ignoring them.  Either way, it seemed that nothing was going to come of Harry’s interest. That was likely for the best.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to someone he shouldn’t be, and it wouldn’t be the last either.  Harry would be going on missions again soon, and one would inevitably be a honeypot. He’d work out his frustrations then, and life would go on, silly crush or no.

The whole thing was a bit galling, however.  Harry was a  _ master _ of effortless seduction.   _ He  _ was the one that was supposed to inspire desperate lust in others.  It was a bit discomfiting to have those tables turned, in particular by someone who was either uninterested, or straight.

Speaking of Merlin, he was waiting for Harry outside of the gym with a scowl that meant Dagonet was being an arsehole again. His scowl alone was enough to set off the warning sirens in Harry’s mind, but he had learned the hard way during their second session not to ask, so this time, he let it slide and swiped his card to grant them access to the training rooms.  Merlin stalked past him to the pub room without comment. Whatever had him riled up, it must have been horrible. Merlin got annoyed on the regular, but this was the first time Harry thought he’d seen him angry.

The door had barely closed behind them when Merlin attacked.  Harry, distracted as always by the sight of Merlin’s arse in those thin trousers as he stalked about like a predator, startled, then  stepped back out of his reach and lashed out to curl his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and tug. The sharp pull didn't unbalance Merlin as it might have when they began training.   


Instead, he stepped into it, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, but what he  _ did _ know was that Merlin had been holding back on him, because after a quick series of blows, Harry found himself on his arse, blinking up at Merlin with ringing ears and a bloodied nose.  Merlin appeared to be just as surprised as he blinked back down at Harry.

“I apologize,” Merlin began as he pulled his shirt over his head and knelt down to hold it to Harry’s nose.   


Harry didn’t let him get that far.  “Like hell,” he exclaimed and threw himself at Merlin, sending them both crashing back into the bar stools.  One toppled over as two of them rolled. Harry’s knees found Merlin’s ribs, and he let out a pained  _ oof  _ as his fingers curled around the leg of the barstool.  Merlin pulled on it in a half-arsed effort to fling it, when Harry put a stop to it by rolling onto the arm.  Merlin retaliated by rolling onto Harry’s back.

Harry froze.

At first, Merlin didn’t seem to notice and continued to push his weight into Harry, but then he caught on, and for a moment, they were both still, their harsh breathing echoing in the room.

Merlin recovered first.  He loosened his grip, and when Harry didn’t pounce again, slid to the side to sit next to Harry.  Harry stayed where he was for another moment before rolling to his side to look up at Merlin. Merlin wasn’t facing him, but that was alright.  Harry could see the flush on his cheeks, and he  _ knew _ what he’d felt.

Merlin knew it too.  He glanced Harry’s direction, and for a breath, their gazes locked.  It was a moment too much, and Merlin sprung to his feet licked his lips, his gaze darting between Harry and  _ anywhere _ else before, at last he spoke, his brogue thicker with nervous emotion.  “I apologize,” he repeated. Harry didn't stop him this time. “I’m too bloody pissed to do this properly today.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once again, he beat a hasty retreat, sans shirt, before Harry could get in a word edgewise.   


It might have left his head reeling if Harry wasn’t too busy feeling smug.  Harry  _ knew _ what he felt when Merlin pressed him down against the floor and  _ that, _ was Merlin’s cock, hard as granite nestled against Harry’s arse like it belonged there.  It was a revelation to Harry, that perhaps his hopeless little crush was not so hopeless after all.   _ No _ straight man got  _ that  _ hard while brawling with another man.

All thoughts Harry had earlier about handling things in a mature fashion by ignoring it, went right out the window.  Their future sessions together were going to be  _ amazing.   _ Harry was going to  _ break _ Merlin, and they were going to  _ fuck _ Harry’s little crush right out of his system, or die trying.

He pushed himself up from the floor and began to tidy the room.  Harry was righting the glasses when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar.  He looked  _ wrecked. _  If Merlin fucked anything like he fought, then Harry was in for a wild ride.

 

\-------

 

Merlin didn’t make it three steps out of the gym before he realized two things.

One:  His  _ embarrassment _ wasn’t subsiding.

Two:  He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

There was no way that he was making it back to his quarters without someone noticing  _ both _ of those things.  _ Shit. _

He was still in the Agents Only section, but that didn’t stop him from ducking into the nearby showers.  Unlike the communal showers for the support staff, the showers here were in a row of large, private stalls.  Merlin ducked into the closest stall, turned on the water full blast, and pulled off his trousers and pants in one fell swoop.  He toed out of his shoes and socks at the same time and all but threw his body under the spray.

Two weeks.  Two weeks of Harry’s hands all over him, of his coy looks in the hallways, and his unexplainable presence every time Merlin turned around, and Merlin had managed to control himself through it all-- until now.

He bit his lip as he stroked, furious, and tried not to remember the way Harry’s body felt underneath him, or the way his hands felt on Merlin’s hips, or the feel of his breath on the back of Merlin’s neck as he prattled on about footwork.  He tried not to think of the curl of Harry’s hair or the way his eyes lit up when he was feeling smug--which was  _ all _ the time.  He tried not to think of  _ anything _ as his prized control fell to pieces, over a man that should have represented everything Merlin  _ despised _ in a person, but somehow didn’t.

Merlin came with a strangled gasp.

He let his forehead rest against the tiles letting the hot water wash away his shame as he tried to catch his breath.

It was all Harry’s fault.  He flirted  _ relentlessly _ and strutted about looking like a goddamn model  _ and _ put his hands  _ all _ over Merlin every chance he got.

Merlin tried to comfort himself that anyone would have broken.  This was what Harry did, after all; make people want him. Most people weren’t Merlin, who prided himself on his self control, yes, but he was in the middle of an extended dry spell.  Merlin was no virgin, but there hadn't been time since the day Mordred approached him in his favorite cafe, and seven months  _ was _ a long time when you were eighteen.

The sound of the door opening had Merlin twisting off the water and attempting to shake himself dry.  Running in here without so much as a towel wasn’t one of Merlin’s brightest ideas, but it was still better than the alternative.  It was clear that there was just something about Harry that made Merlin stupid. He was still wet when he pulled his clothes back on, but even as thin as the fabric was, it was still preferable to making a walk of shame back to his room hard.

The person or people rather that entered the room were still in the communal area when Merlin slipped out of the shower stall.  He took half a step back as two sets of eyes pinned on him.

Both men spoke at the same time.   


“Who the hell are you?”

“Fancy meeting you here Merlin.”

The second voice was Percival, who dragged his eyes up and down as he took in Merlin’s appearance, then slowly began to smile.

The other man blinked.  “This is Merlin? Mordred’s new pet?  The one he speaks so fondly of?”

That made Merlin freeze.  The way Mordred spoke about him was a common point of discussion.  It was the main source of Dagonet’s ire, and a constant source of amusement for just about everyone else.  Merlin didn’t know what to make of it, himself. He had no other point of reference to judge Mordred from. 

He just always seemed delighted by  _ something,  _ while in Merlin’s presence. 

“That would be me,” Merlin groused.  “I was just on my way out after combat practice with Galahad.”  He edged closer to the exit even as both men flashed him knowing looks.

“Pleasure to meet you Merlin,  I’m Gawain.” He held out his hand, and Merlin had no choice but to stop and shake it.  “Hand to hand training with Galahad,” he sighed. “Don’t let him scare you off. The lad’s tastes are a bit  _ unique _ but despite the chatter, he’s mostly harmless.”

Merlin could only hope that he was blushing as the incident that happened less than twenty minutes ago flashed before his eyes.  Harry’s flirting might be harmless, sure, but Merlin’s body was reacting to it all the same. It was trouble, all around. “I’m not sure I have any idea what you’re talking about,” he replied at length.

Percival opened his mouth to answer, but Gawain spoke over him.  “He’s a shirt-lifter, lad. Seems to like the ladies well enough on missions, but I’ve never heard him speak of one otherwise.”

“Gawain,” Percival groaned as he ran a hand over his head.

“What?” Gawain snapped back.  “It’s not as if Galahad denies it, and the boy has a right to know in case of---”

“In case of nothing, you prat,” Percival interrupted in a curt, no-nonsense tone.  “Galahad is an exemplary agent, and is frankly better at controlling his urges than you are.  Go take your shower. Merlin doesn’t have time for your hen house gossip and neither do I.”

“Well, I have to get my jollies somehow,” Gawain pouted, seemingly abashed.  “And you know that  _ I  _ don’t think less of the baby agent for it.  I leave that to Lancelot and his ilk.” He leveled a look at Merlin, as he turned and headed to the lockers.  “Keep out of trouble, Mordred’s pet.”

“His name is Merlin,” Percival insisted, his tone less severe as he watched Gawain go about his business.  Merlin started to edge towards the doors once more, but Percival turned back to him the moment he moved. “Well, you can’t go walking through the hallways dressed like  _ that. _  What happened to your shirt?”

Merlin  _ did _ flush at that.  “I got a lucky hit in on Galahad, or unlucky from his point of view.  I used it to mop up the blood.”

“Good show,” Percival praised, as he beckoned for Merlin to follow him over to the lockers.  He pulled a dressing gown out of one and passed it over.

Merlin held it for a second.  “I can’t take this. It’s---”

Percival interrupted.  “It’s a spare. Never been worn before.  We keep this locker stocked in case of emergencies.  Take it. It’s yours now.”

It was just a standard Kingsman issue dressing gown, but it was still finer than any piece of clothing that Merlin had ever owned.  It caressed his skin as he slipped it on, and felt damn near weightless even though the fabric was thick and warm. “Ah, thank you, Sir.”

“Just don’t let me catch you in here without an accompanying agent again,” Percival admonished with a smile.  “I don’t even want to know how you got past the keypad.”

Merlin blinked.  In his haste to get inside and out of sight, he hadn't even thought about the security.  Had the door opened for him, or was it already open? By all rights, he never should have made it inside, but here he was.  “Aye,” he hedged. “Best not to ask. I’ll just be going now.”

Percival nodded, and let Merlin get a few steps away before he stopped him this time.  “Merlin?”

“Yessir?” Merlin stopped and turned back to the older man.

“About what Gawain said earlier.  I don’t want you---”

It was Merlin’s turn to interrupt.  “It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Who Galahad sleeps with is none of my business.  It doesn’t change things either way.”

Percival’s shoulders rose out of their slight slump, as he favored Merlin with a gentle smile.  “Good. That’s good. I’ve seen how friendly you’ve been, and I think it’s good, for the both of you.  I’d hate to see a silly prejudice ruin that.”

Merlin was halfway to a full blown panic attack, but the colder more logical part of his brain put a halt to it all.  Percival didn’t seem to mean anything other than what his words implied. He was talking about friendship, and  _ not _ the way Merlin’s cock got hard at the thought of Harry underneath him.  “We really don’t spend much time together outside of our training sessions.”

“That’s because you currently have  _ no _ time outside of your training schedule.  I’ve seen it.” Percival winked at him, then gestured towards the door.  “Speaking of which, you’d best be on your way. Give Mordred my regards.”

He’d never been so glad to be so casually dismissed.  “Of course. Goodbye, Sir.”

“Goodbye, Merlin.”

Merlin made for the door, and let it close the sound of Percival’s chuckling in behind him.

The entire encounter only made him more resolute.   _ Nothing _ could happen between himself and Harry.  Nothing. During their session the next morning, Merlin would just have to apologize, and do his best to write what happened off.  Harry would understand. He had to.

End of story.

 

\-------

 

It was unfortunate, that there would be no future sessions.

That night Harry returned to his quarters to find two messages waiting for him on his terminal.  The first, was long awaited news from Medical. He was cleared for active duty. The second?

_ Report to Arthur at 0800 tomorrow morning for your briefing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the chapter! Thank you all so much for reading! Anyone else kind of want to punch Gawain?
> 
> The restaurant training scene is inspired heavily by Psych.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ [fvckingspecacvlar](https://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com/), where I have just added a ton of Merlahad back into the queue. Check me out!
> 
> Next Chapter: Harry is getting desperate to have his itches scratched, as he makes the monumental mistake of requesting that his newest infatuation be his backup on his mission.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's back on active duty and is itching for a mission, if only to get rid of his excess _energy_ , but Roman Dubois and his criminal empire remains a tough knot to unravel. Was Harry's failed mission a fluke, or the beginning of an unlucky streak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Harry/OMC in this chapter. Canon typical violence tag is in effect.

Harry took the stairs to the second level of the shop two at a time.  He was  _ only _ three minutes late, but was too eager to mess around and pretend that he wasn’t arriving slightly late on purpose, just to ruffle Arthur’s feathers.  He entered the room after knocking, and was disappointed to find that Merlin was not in attendance.

“Arthur.  Mordred,” He greeted as he walked around the table to his seat.

“Galahad.  You were almost on time.  This may even be a new record,” Mordred drawled, good-naturedly, as Arthur grumbled a  _ Hello Galahad, _ without looking up from the file in front of him.

“I do love to please,” Harry smiled in return, and was unphased when Arthur snorted.  “You have a mission for me?”

“Indeed.  Mordred, you may begin.”  Arthur slid the file to Mordred, who took the disk from the inner pocket and slid it into the console.

“Very well.”  Mordred brought up the familiar photo of Dubois.  “Thus far, Dubois appears to be keeping his head down.  His businesses are still active, but the man himself is proving to be elusive.  Instead, we believe that he is currently conducting business through this man, Abasi Mwangi.”  Mordred changed the image to an image of the two of them together, at what appeared to be a business function.  The picture was at least a few years old, though Dubois hadn’t changed much. Harry couldn’t imagine that Mwangi had either.  “Mwangi runs a small subsidiary of Dubois’ organization in Mombasa.”

Harry sat up straighter in his seat at that.  There was no denying that the port city had a bit of a reputation,  _ and _ it  _ was _ a good place to disappear.  It also had the distinction of being somewhere that Harry had never been before.

“Over the past few weeks, he’s attended a series of meetings with several ah,  _ unsavory individuals _ that are on our watchlists.  That alone would be enough to draw our interest, but he’s also met several times with this man--”  The screen changed again to Mwangi meeting with another man. Harry studied both of their faces, but couldn't see any reason for that meeting to be of note above any others.

“Who is he?”

“That,” Mordred continued with a frown.  “Is Eric Rollings. Currently, he is the Vice President of Rollings International-- the family business,  _ and _ a former Kingsman recruit.”

“Well.  That  _ would _ explain the worry.”  Now Harry was frowning himself.  “Do you believe that this is our leak?”

“No,” Mordred sighed.  “Much as I wish it were so, Rollings doesn’t have the clearance required.  He has no access to any of our current dealings. He may, however, be the middle-man.  We’ve been monitoring all outgoing communications from the compound, and so far, nothing.  Right now, Rollings is our best link to both Dubois  _ and _ our mysterious leak.”

Harry looked closer at the images of Rollings.  He was in his forties, at the least, and likely a failed candidate for Bors, though Mordred hadn’t specified.  It seemed that he’d let himself go since his Kingsman training, and was already developing quite the pot belly.  Pity that. “Am I to  _ make contact?” _  It was a discrete way of asking if the mission was to be a honeypot.    


“No.”  Arthur was the one to answer this time.  He closed the file and slid it to Harry. “You’ll be traveling to Mombasa in the morning.  You are to locate Eric Rollings and observe his habits. This mission is to be purely  _ surveillance _ , Galahad.  We don’t want to spook him.  Just find him, and watch him.  You will be equipped with bugs to plant if the opportunity arises, but I mean it when I say no contact. 

“Rollings might not appear to be dangerous but he  _ is _ trained, and more importantly, he  _ knows _ Kingsman.  He may be expecting interference.”

Harry sighed, a little disappointed that it  _ wasn’t  _ a more active mission.  Tailing a mark wasn’t the most interesting of jobs, though he supposed that the location lent a certain amount of excitement, at least.  Perhaps there was a little bit of challenge as well, considering his normal method of planting trackers was a little more  _ up close and personal. _

“Understood.  When do I leave?”

“In two hours.  I suggest you familiarize yourself with your cover during the flight.”  Arthur leaned back in his seat and waved a hand to dismiss Harry. “You’ve been given use of one of the smaller jets, try to bring it back in once piece.  Your handler will be posing as your pilot.”

“I’d like to request Merlin.”  It was a spur of the moment decision-- one Harry didn’t even realize he was making until the words were out of his mouth.  It seemed to startle both Arthur and Mordred. 

The latter began to shake his head.  “Merlin hasn’t completed his training.  Dagonet will suffice.”

“Dagonet fell asleep during my last op, and Merlin’s capable.  I’ve been training with him for over two weeks, and certified or no, there’s no one I’d rather have at my back, aside from you.  Sir.” It was the truth, and nothing to do with Harry’s revelation the day before. Much as he wanted to bed Merlin, he was also eager to just  _ work _ with the brilliant scot.

Mordred was tight faced, and still reluctant, but to his credit, he seemed to be giving Harry’s request thought, as Arthur checked out entirely and left the decision to the Quartermaster.  “Very well,” he said at length. “But you are to  _ stick _ to your mission parameters.  None of the improvising you’re so fond of, and I  _ will _ be monitoring from headquarters.”

“Thank you, Mordred.”  Harry smiled as he stood.

“Yes, you should be thanking me,” Mordred grumbled in return.  “You’re not the one that has to inform the most irritable member of my staff that he has to be ready to ship out in an hour and a half.  _ You’re dismissed.” _

 

\------------------------------

 

Merlin was at his terminal in Central, reviewing his morning information packet, when a new message pinged across the screen.

_ Report to Mordred for mission briefing, immediately. _

He blinked at the message, then read it again.  There had to be some sort of mistake-- Merlin was still in training.  He wasn’t cleared to take missions. He closed the message and stood, to find Mordred there looking down at him.  “Good, you received the message. Come along.”

“Sir?”  Mordred didn’t answer, and was already striding off.  Merlin shoved his chair under his desk and jogged to follow.  They left Central and headed down a winding hallway, deep into the Kingsman headquarters.

“You’ll have to forgive me for being short, Merlin.  We don’t have much time. Despite my better judgement, I have agreed to send you on a mission.”  He paused and glanced at Merlin over his shoulder. “It’s not that I doubt your abilities, my boy, but I would have preferred something a bit closer to home for your first time out.  The first mission is always the hardest.”

“Then why send me on this one?”  Merlin couldn’t help but be curious.    


Mordred stopped and slid his card at a door access point, then lead Merlin into what appeared to be a gigantic wardrobe.  They walked down the isles to a rack of what appeared to be pilots uniforms and stopped. Mordred gave Merlin a critical lookover, then began to leaf through the hanging costumes.

“Because Galahad asked, and he rarely does.”

Galahad.  Now that was a complication that killed any excitement that might have been building within Merlin.  Yesterday’s embarrassing incident was still vivid in his mind. He’d thought, he’d been doing a good job of hiding his mounting attraction to the agent, but then his body had gone and betrayed him.  He’d left, before Harry could make an issue of it, and Merlin  _ wasn’t _ looking forward to facing him again.

They needed to have a chance to work things out, and the place for that  _ wasn’t  _ on a plane on their way to Mombasa for official Kingsman business.

And by work things out, make it absolutely clear that just because Merlin had gotten hard, doesn’t mean it meant anything.    


“Galahad… requested me?”

“Indeed.”  Mordred pressed a uniform against Merlin’s chest.  “Put that on.”

Merlin toed off his shoes and dropped trou.  Any modesty he had to begin with, was beaten out of him during his stint in bootcamp before continuing on to college.  He pulled the new pair of pants on, then set to work on the shirt as Mordred began to explain.

“He’s reluctant to work with Dagonet again so soon.  I suppose I don’t blame him, though this particular mission is more Dagonet’s speed.  The poor man is just too much of a prude to properly handle Honeypot missions. That, however is a conversation for another day.”  Mordred sighed and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “Your mission is straightforward. You’ll be acting as Galahad’s pilot. The both of you will travel to Mombasa, where you and Galahad will track our mark.  Anywhere he goes, and anyone he talks to, we want to know it. Galahad will handle all the legwork, and you will aid him from the plane. You are not to leave the plane. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded as he pulled the last bit of the uniform into place.  He glance at himself in a nearby mirror, and was surprised to see how professional he looked.  “Yes, sir. But, the pilot? I’ve never flown--only done the simulations.”

“The autopilot will handle most of the heavy lifting.  You did well on those simulations,” Mordred pointed out as he came up behind Merlin to look at him through the reflection.  “Despite my reluctance to send you in the field so soon, I have the utmost faith that you will perform to your full potential.”

Merlin blinked at that, then nodded.  The praise was unexpected, and he wasn’t sure how to react to it.  He shifted his weight as Mordred gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then the moment was over.  They both turned away from the mirror and left the costume room to head down to the hangar. 

“All briefing materials will be available to you on the plane, and I’ll be supervising from here, should you have any questions.”

“Yessir.  How long will we be gone?”  Merlin was still hung up on the knowledge that Harry requested him.  There was no way, after yesterday’s incident that a prolonged amount of time together could mean anything good.  Sure, he’d relentlessly flirted with Merlin from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other, but Merlin knew it wasn’t anything personal.  Someone of Harry’s stature would have to be desperate to want Merlin.

Merlin was letting his fantasies take control again.  Even if Harry  _ did _ want Merlin, they wouldn’t be doing anything.  If his run in with Gawain and Percival taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t afford to stick out more than he already did.  If they knew that he was a  _ shirt-lifter _ like Harry, it might be the breaking point.

“A week, if things go well.  We want to establish his routines, then continue to monitor the situation for the next few days.”    


It was all so vague, but the best Merlin would get while they were walking through the halls through headquarters.  Though they were all on the same side, missions were need to know. Only those involved got the details. Hell, even Merlin wasn’t sure he would be allowed to see the whole picture.

He would just have to make it clear to  _ Galahad _ that from the moment they took off, he considered them on the job, and  _ no _ personal matters were to be discussed.  End of story.

Dagonet was standing next to the jet, completing the pre-flight check as they arrived.  Merlin bit his inner cheek, as Mordred called out to him. “Dagonet. There’s been a change in plans.  Report back to Central. I’ll debrief you there.”

“But…”  Dagonet trailed off and his eyes narrowed as he took in Merlin’s appearance.  His expression tightened and his fingers balled into a fist at his side, but he gave Mordred a snapped nod. “Yessir.”  Then turned on his heel and stalked off. Merlin knew that his sudden assignment to this mission wouldn’t buy him anymore friends than his sudden promotion had, but the treatment wasn’t anything that he wasn’t used to.  He could handle himself.

Mordred sighed, and gave Merlin a pat to the back. “He’ll get over it.  Eventually. Concentrate on the mission. Don’t let Galahad lead you into dramatics, though if there’s anyone that can corrall him, it will be you.  You’ve got an iron will, my boy, use it.”

Merlin stood a little straighter, and pushed his misgivings aside.   He’d been training for this for a better part of a month, he could do it.  “Yessir.”

From their left, Galahad approached.  He was speaking with another agent that Merlin recognized from the King’s Corner, Bors, if Merlin remembered correctly.  They paused and shook hands, then the older agent broke off and headed past Merlin and Mordred with a nod. Galahad approached the jet.

“Mordred, Merlin, lovely morning for a trip, isn’t it?”  Galahad was all smiles as he met the two of them.

“Lovely morning, he says,” Mordred drawled.  “We know you’re eager to go. Merlin, don’t let him drive you crazy, and remember if you need anything, I’ll be monitoring the line.”

“Yessir,” Merlin nodded, and swallowed around his nerves.  Thirteen hours alone with  _ Harry-- _ and they were being  _ monitored. _  He didn’t think his heart could take it.  There was too much riding on this moment for him to let his libido get in the way, but every time he looked, and Harry was smiling at him with that stupid curl on his forehead, Merlin remembered the way he’d felt  _ under _ him, and his stomach churned.

“Don’t worry, Sir.  I’ll have him back in one piece by ten.”  With a wink, Galahad turned and climbed the staircase.

“Mind you to keep your hands above the waist as well,” Mordred called after him.  “Remember to leave room for the lord.” With that, he over at Merlin and gestured him to follow Galahad with a jerk of his chin.  “Go on now, lad. The sooner you leave, and the sooner you can come back. Do us proud.”

Well, there was nothing he could really say to that.

Merlin boarded the plane.

\----------

 

There was one fatal flaw in Harry’s plan to request his current object of lust for his mission; the thirteen hour plane ride to Mombasa.

In a perfect world, they’d spend at least part of that time fucking each other’s brains out, but this was not a perfect world.

Harry was ready to tie himself in knots over it because Merlin,  _ sweet Merlin _ , had followed Harry onto the jet and retreated right behind a mask of cool professionalism that no amount of leering seemed to be able to make a dent in.  The mask was so relentless, that if Harry didn’t know better, he might even say the man was nervous.

No, not Merlin, impossible.

The man in question retreated into the cockpit for take off, before Harry could descend into outright innuendo, so Harry settled in for a long ride.  Perhaps after a quick nap, Merlin would be feeling more sociable. 

Thirteen hours later, Harry emerged from the jet, well-rested, and sexually frustrated.

It was clear that he could add the words,  _ monumentally stubborn, _ to the short list of things that he knew about his new handler.

Well, he was going to find out that Harry could be just as stubborn,  _ and _ that he wasn’t easily distracted.

There were men waiting to take his bags and usher him into the waiting arms of his cab.  For the next week, he was to be Harry Carmitchel, heir of Carmitchel Industries, officially in town to see to his father’s business expansions, and unofficially, looking to wet his belly, so to speak, in the city’s seedier districts. 

Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking forward to the most: a week spent playing the spoiled heir at a seaside resort, or getting to explore the criminal underworld of a foreign country.  Both parts of the assignment appealed to different parts of him.

He took a deep breath.  Even the air felt different here.

His cab took him straight to the hotel.  The beachside resort was as close as Guinevere had been able to get him to the even more exclusive privately owned areas on short notice.  Finding Dubois’ property there was a secondary part of his mission, but Harry was  _ confident _ that he’d be able to find someone to get him past the security.

Or he’d just find an alternate route in, but skulking about was far less fun.

The view from Harry’s room was gorgeous.  He spared a moment of pity for Merlin, who would be spending his week cooped up in the jet, then felt vindictive about it.  That was what he got, for refusing to speak to Harry about anything other than the mission for  _ thirteen hours _ .

It was too late to just go traipsing into the market district, so Harry secured his room and made contact with the ornery bastard.  “I’m all settled in.  _ Shame _ that you’re missing the view.”

It took a moment for Merlin to pick up.  “I can see it well enough. By the way, your button camera is working.  Don’t forget it when you change clothes.”

“Merlin!  How dirty of you.  I should have known that you’d be a voyeur.”  Harry couldn’t resist making the dig.

Merlin let out a choking cough that had Harry grinning into a nearby mirror.  Let the bastard see. “That was my coffee, you fucker,” Merlin rasped. He coughed again to clear his throat.  “I meant, remember to put it back on, when you change.

“Of course you did,” Harry agreed, voice mild.  He pulled the button camera from his shirt and placed it down on the dresser before starting to change.  “You really don’t know what you’re missing, but I suppose that just this once, I’ll humor your delicate sensibilities.  It is our first official mission together, after all.”

Merlin, predictably, did not reply.

Harry’s casual outfits were not bulletproof, but they were tailored to make him look amazing.  He took a moment to admire the way the lighter fabrics draped over his body, before picking up the button cam to attach it to the new shirt.

When Merlin didn’t confirm that it was online, Harry frowned, and fiddled with the tiny piece of tech.  “Merlin?”

Silence.

“Merlin, Is--”

“Right.  Sorry, camera online.”  The words came out in a rush, and though Merlin gave no explanation for his silence, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit smug.  Now that Harry knew there were signs to look for, he could  _ see _ that he wasn’t flirting with a brick wall.  Even if nothing ever came of it, at least he had that.  Having that kind of  _ power _ was a heady feeling.  It was the same one Harry got behind the wheel of a speeding vehicle, or when handling a loaded gun.  “By all means,” he purred, imagining the flush spreading across Merlin’s face. “How does the feed look?”

He could hear Merlin’s sharp intake of breath.  “Fine. Everything looks fine.”

“Good to hear.  I’m going to wander for a bit.”  Even as late as it was, the hotel bar would still be open.  Harry would start there before taking a moonlight walk on the beach.  “Perhaps I’ll see if I can’t find someone to take me  _ on a tour _ .”  He checked his wallet and his signet ring.  The white linen shirt wouldn’t do much to conceal his sidearm, so he’d have to travel light.

“You’re not to engage,” Merlin reminded him.

“I don’t plan on it,” Harry assured him, and for once he was telling the truth.  The fact was, they were here for a week, and aside from planting his bugs, there was scant little else to do.  He hated surveillance missions, but Harry planned on making the most of it.

If Merlin wouldn’t fuck him, he’d find someone that would.  Perhaps once he was sated, the scotsman wouldn’t look so appealing.

Besides, he was well and truly out of the country for the first time in his life, and in a place that was just so much.  Harry didn’t have the words for it. He wanted to see it  _ all _ .

“Just a drink or two, then a nice walk,” he promised.  “You don’t even have to monitor me, if you like. I’m sure you have better things to do than watch me sip drinks by the ocean.”

“The only thing I  _ have _ to do is keep track of you.”

Harry beamed at his own reflection in the mirror before making his way to the door.  “See. I  _ knew _ you liked watching me.”

 

\------------

 

It took an hour for Harry to make his way to the pub from Rollings’ dossier.

Merlin kept half an eye on his vitals, streamed to his watch, as he supervised the jet’s refueling.  They were supposed to be there for a week, yes, but Merlin wanted to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.  There was no point in tempting fate by putting it off.

“It’s like a modern day Tortuga,” Galahad mumbled, knowing the coms would pick up his voice, even if he whispered.  He sounded far too excited for someone descending into a crime underbelly. “Someone’s already lifted my decoy billfold, and I believe I just witnessed a stabbing!”

Merlin sighed as he pulled the plane door up behind him and secured it.  “Just don’t lose your sidearm..or your earpiece.”

“It would take an uncommon thief with the deftest of fingers to relieve me of either,” Harry teased in return.  “You might be able to pull off the lift. I’ve seen how delicate your fingers can be with fine work.”

_ See how delicate you think my fingers are when I shove them up your arse. _  “I thought we agreed, no flirting while on assignment.”

“Terribly sorry,” Harry said, tone unrepentant despite his words.  “I’ll save my sweet nothings for our rendezvous. Approaching the pub now.”

Harry’s chatter cut as he walked into the busy establishment.  The low chatter of a packed dive bar filled the silence. Merlin could almost picture the scene Galahad walked in on.  It was the type of pub he’d grown up in; seedy and filled with an almost unnatural amount of dark corners for  _ business  _ to be done in.

“Well, I don’t see my friend.”  Galahad spoke in the same low tone from before.  “I believe I’ll head for the bar and get a taste of the local nightlife.”

And so they went on.  There was little for Merlin to do but monitor Galahad’s vitals and jot down notes, as the agent tapped out coded messages against his earpiece while making small talk with those around him.

_ Four exits.  The main entrance, two behind the bar, and a window. _

_ Local group and yakuza celebrating a deal in the north corner.  Weapons. _

_ Englishman with obvious toupee approaching.  Not Rollings. _

Merlin envied the ease Galahad had integrating himself.  People had never come easy to Merlin, not like his tech. People were too unpredictable.  Harry was the case in point. He didn’t think anyone had ever kept him so on edge.

Even while attempting to be incognito, Galahad drew people to him.  It seemed that he’d caught  _ Englishman with obvious toupee’s _ eye.  They introduced themselves, both seemingly surprised to find a patriot in such quarters.

Galahad gasped, delighted, and raised his voice, “Do I really stick out so much?”

“You have that wide-eyed look about you,” the second voice chimed in, sounding amused.  “It’s as if you don’t know just where to look, so you try to look at it all at once. I remember being that way on my first trip.”

Galahad laughed.  “There’s just so much to take in!”  Merlin could hear the lear in his voice.  “A far cry from Savile Row. I mean, you don’t see  _ that _ sort of thing outside of  _ certain _ establishments at home.”

Merlin could  _ hear _ the leer in Galahad’s voice, and didn’t even have to imagine what  _ that sort of thing _ might be.  “That better not be the mark you’re flirting with,” Merlin grumbled, even though Galahad had already confirmed otherwise.

“Don’t be daft,” Harry laughed, as did his new acquaintance, though Merlin was sure that the comment was for him.   _ Don’t be daft, _ Merlin mouthed back at his computer monitor, with a tinge of sarcasm that didn’t come from a place of jealousy in the slightest.

Alright.  Maybe it was, but only jealousy that Galahad was getting to enjoy a night out, while Merlin was cooped up in the jet. It wasn’t like he had any stake in  _ Harry _ .  He knew the man was a flirt, and if anything, this was just evidence that the flirting he did with Merlin wasn’t a sign of interest.

_ Rollings entered through left bar door.  Alone. Approaching bar. _

_ Back room? _

Christ, Merlin would kill for a decent drink and some company that wasn’t his left hand.

_ Behind me.  Placing tracker. _

“Proceed with caution,” Merlin advised.    


_ Mother hen.  Tracker active.  Took two shots. Looks to be leaving. _

“Time to say goodbye to your new friend then.”

“Pity,” the other man was saying.  “Well. If you change your mind, this is my room number.  You’d look rather fetching in my tub, and then on my sheets.”

Merlin blinked.  He’d missed something while decoding Galahad’s messages.  “Well, he doesn’t beat around the bush does he?”

_ I like them direct. _

“Now, that does sound tempting, but perhaps, just a kiss for good luck?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. 

He could hear the smug smile in Galahad’s voice, as he stepped away from Mr. Horrible Toupee.  “It’s been charming  _ speaking _ with you Mr. Hastings.  Look up the shop when you’re in London again?  I’ll see to your fitting  _ personally. _ ”

“Now, who’s being tempting?  You’d best be off my boy, before I decide to keep you to myself after all, and make you miss your meeting.”

“Ta.”  _ Leaving through the main exit.  _

Merlin switched his monitors to an overhead map of the area to track Galahad’s path on one screen, and Rollings’ on the other.   “Alright. I have your location. I suppose the toupee wasn’t a turn off after all?”

“Now darling, you’re still the one I’ll come home to.”  Galahad laughed, no longer in a position to be overheard.  “How is our tracker doing?”

“Perfect.  He’s about twenty yards down the street to your left.  Seems to be heading deeper into the District instead of to the port.”  Merlin picked up the headphones he’d attached to the computer to keep the two sounds feeds separate and held them to one ear.  “Audio is active.”

“Well, that was simple enough.  To think I turned down a night in Rupert Hastings’ five star suite.”

“Tired of the depravity in the streets already?”  Merlin frowned at the monitor as Rollings’ data stopped in an alleyway.  He tuned Galahad out, in favor of listening to the second feed.

“Our new friends say they have a foolproof way of getting the goods through customs,” Rollings was saying to someone.  “I brokered the deal. They’ll be ready to ship out next week. I want my cut.”

“About that,” an accented voice cut over the feed, and made Merlin sit up straight in his chair as he turned his attention back to Galahad.  Rollings gasped.

“Shite, Galahad.  He’s with Mwangi. They’re in an alleyway two streets down from you, on the right.  Try to get a visual.”

“Shit,” Galahad echoed.  “I thought our intel said they weren’t meeting until Wednesday?”  Merlin watched as the space between the two tracking arrows closed in.  Rollings’ feed had gone silent, and he was already dreading what he was sure had happened.

They’d been fed bad intel,  _ again. _

“Buggering fucking hell,” Galahad cursed.  “Mwangi’s gone.”

“And Rollings?”  Merlin already knew the answer, but asked the question all the same.

“Dead.  His throat slit. Another dead fucking end.”  

Thirteen hours on a jet for nothing.  Dubois was still one step ahead of them, in the wind, their only real lead, dead before they got  _ anything _ from him.

Well.  That wasn’t true.  They had a clue. The smuggling operation.  Mwangi needed to get something past customs,  _ somewhere, _ and had hired  _ someone _ to do it.  It wasn’t much, but it was  _ something.  Christ. _

“Galahad, get out of there before someone notices you with the body. Return to the resort and be seen. Make sure you have an alibi.”  Mordred’s tight voice over the coms made Merlin jump. He’d forgotten that they were being observed at all. He flushed, at the thought of Mordred hearing his quips to Galahad.  Shite. “We’re arranging for a  _ family emergency _ .  You’ll be informed of it in the morning then return first thing.  Merlin, forward your recordings and tracking data to Headquarters.”

Merlin was already compiling the streamed files into smaller chunks to sent.

“I should go after Mwangi,” Galahad insisted.  Merlin watched as Rollings’ dot blinked out of existence, and Galahad’s began to move from the scene of the murder.  “He was here less than a minute ago. He couldn’t have gotten far-- might have even returned to the pub, don’t you think?  They were in the process of setting up some sort of operation.”

“Absolutely not,” Mordred barked over the line.  “Might I remind you that Rollings had the very same defense training that you do.  The mission has clearly been compromised, and there’s nothing to do but get you both home safe.  You will not attempt to engage Mwangi. Do you both understand me?”

It rankled a bit, being included in the dressing down, but Merlin also had to admit how tempting it was to try and go after the crime-lord.  They hadn’t failed at anything really--Rollings’ death was out of their hands, but the new dead end left a sour taste in Merlin’s mouth. He was beginning to understand why Galahad had been so surly during their first debriefing.

“Yes, sir,” echoed over the line as both Merlin and Galahad answered in unison.

“Good.  There will be other missions, and you both did well.  Maintain your covers, and please, for my heart, try not to get in any trouble.”  Mordred sighed, the defeat audible in his voice. Despite his words, it was clear that he was just as frustrated as the younger agents.  “Keep your communicators active but muted unless something arises.”

There was a click, and silence as he did so on his end.  Merlin sat back in his chair, staring at the monitors without seeing anything.  He made to mute his feed as well, when Galahad spoke. “Well, I suppose that means my meeting concluded early.  Perhaps Rupert will still be at the bar. Ta, Merlin. Don’t wait up for me.”

His line clicked as well.

Merlin could only wonder what  _ Harry’s _ thought process was.  He was absolutely brazen, and even with Mordred’s line having been muted, there was no way that he didn’t  _ know _ what Galahad was getting up to.  The feeling that wasn’t jealousy churned in Merlin’s gut again.  He ignored it, and pushed away from the desk then stood.

He was trapped on the jet for the rest of the night, monitoring Galahad’s frequency,  _ just in case. _  There was no changing that, or Rollings’ death, or Galahad’s decision.  There was nothing to do but settle in.

Merlin rummaged through the bag he’d packed for a snack, and the project he’d brought with him, just in case.  He stretched out on the floor, with his snack and his kit, and did his best to distract himself from the dark thoughts that were looming.

_ He wondered, just how pretty Galahad would be, stretched out on silk sheets. _

 

\-----------------

 

In the early hours of the morning, Harry slipped out of Rupert’s bedroom, and took to the streets.    


By all rights, he had a lovely time, but that hadn’t stopped the churning in Harry’s stomach.  Another mission down the hole. Dubois was turning out to be a  _ real _ problem, and one that left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth.  He understood the need for caution. If they pushed  _ too _ far, Dubois would go to ground, and then it could be  _ years _ before they managed to close in again.

At the rate they were going, though, it might be years before they managed to close in on him at all.

Rupert had been a nice, fun distraction from the newest failure, but ultimately, a hollow one.

Harry was sneaking out into the night, with a heavy mind, and a heavy heart all the same.

“I see you’re on the move again,” Merlin’s voice sounded through his earpiece.

Harry sighed. “I thought I told you not to wait up.”  The Scot sounded tired, even over the tinny connection.

“Not till you’re where you should be, and you  _ should _ appreciate that.  The last time someone took a cat nap while you were on duty, you got shot.”

Harry supposed he had a good point.  The row of homes that made up this private stretch of beach looked like any others.  They were obstininious to be sure, but none of them screamed out  _ criminal mastermind lives here. _  Harry skunked about the neighborhood leaving trackers all the same.    


“How much did you listen to,” he asked, curiously.  He’d joked earlier about Merlin being a voyeur, but hadn’t meant it.

“Nothing,” Merlin informed him.  “I monitored your vitals, and kept your tracking data handy.  Everything seemed in range, and I only turned everything back on once you started moving.”

“Oh,” Harry sighed.  Part of him was disappointed.  He had no trouble admitting to himself that the whole reason he’d made such a show at going with Rupert was an attempt to make Merlin jealous.

The other part of him had been so sure that once he got laid, Merlin wouldn’t even matter anymore.

Harry had been telling himself that Merlin was something new and mysterious, a temporary infatuation while he was cooped up in Headquarters healing.  If that was true, than Rupert would have been enough to sway him, but Harry was getting the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the case. The sex was satisfying, but it didn’t scratch Harry’s itch.

“Oh?  No need to sound so disappointed,” Merlin laughed, unknowingly echoing Harry’s thoughts on it.  “What’s wrong? Was the sex that bad?”

“Oh, now you want details,” Harry huffed as he placed the last tracker.

“Spare me,” Merlin quipped in return.  “You just don’t sound like y’ad a good time.”

The handler couldn’t know how tired he sounded, and just that little slip into a deeper brogue had Harry’s mouth watering.  “Fun was had all round,” Harry insisted. “Rupert was an enthusiastic and thoughtful lover, which is more than I get from most marks.  I just can’t help thinking about Dubois.”

“In the bedroom?  That must’ve been awkward,” Merlin rumbled.  “Your bug placement is excellent, by the way.  The grid’s coming online now.”

“Ta.”  It was time to get the hell out, then.  Harry started down the row back towards Rupert’s townhouse.  “And not in bed, you prat. Just, in general. I’ve never had a mission go so pear-shaped, and not once, but twice!”

There was a moment of silence, then Harry could hear Merlin sigh.  “They can’t all be assassination attempts.”

Harry blinked in surprise.  “My first mission. Isn’t that classified?”

“It was part of one of my information packets.”

“Along with a video of my training.  There seems to be an awful lot of me, in those information packets of yours.”    


“Take it up with Mordred.”  Harry could hear the shrug in Merlin’s voice.  “I’m fairly sure he’s the one that compiles them.  He quizzes me on them, at any matter.”

Rupert’s house was in view, but Harry hesitated to go inside.  He  _ should _ .  He needed to be back in bed before Rupert woke to find him gone, but still, he hesitated.  Instead, he lit a cigarette and sat on the front stair.

“Do you ever wonder about what it is we’re doing?”  He wasn’t sure where the question came from. Harry wasn’t the type to wax existential, he was a man of decision.  You made a choice, and lived with the consequences, good or bad. What couldn’t be changed, must be borne, with as much grace and dignity as possible until you  _ could _ change it.

He particularly wasn’t given to airing his misgivings to others, and, despite the strange dance they were doing, he and Merlin were still almost strangers.

“In life, the universe, and everything?  Or just here in this moment?” Merlin sounded more amused, than anything, which Harry was grateful for.

“Any of it.”  Harry took a long drag off his cigarette and cursed himself for saying anything at all.

There was a moment of silence, and then Merlin chuckled.  “All the fuckin’ time. But it’s good work we do, and at the end of the day, that’s all you can ask for, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right.  It just doesn’t feel very good to be outmaneuvered, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”  Merlin agreed. “But you have to keep faith.  Just because there’s a cog in the works, you don’t throw out the whole project.  You find the bug, and then the next and the next. And sometimes, you rewrite the whole fucking code because it was all just rubbish.  But you keep at it until you get it right.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure he understood the analogy, but he did get Merlin’s point.  “Keep calm and carry on, then?”

He stubbed out his cigarette as he listened to Merlin sputter on the other end of the line.  “If you want to be stiff-upper lip about it, then yes. It’s the Kingsman way, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry laughed and pushed back up to his feet.  He’d been procrastinating too long. “I’ll have to ask Lancelot.”

“Better you than me.”

“He’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be.”  Harry’s own dislike of Chester aside, the man wasn’t the devil incarnate.  He was, however, a snob. “I’m going back inside now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Galahad.”   


The com went silent as Harry let himself into the house.

Their conversation had been...strange.  Harry wasn’t the sort that poured his heart out to people.  He’d never needed a confidant before, or wanted one even. He was fine on his own.  Talking to Merlin was nice, however. At no point during their conversation had Harry felt  _ weak _ .

Clearly, there was something in the air in Mombasa that was going straight to Harry’s head and making him crazy.

He shook his head as he climbed the stairs, and let himself back into Rupert’s room to find the man just as he’d left him.

Whatever this strangeness was, Harry needed to get it out of his system.

He wondered if Rupert would be up for round two?

He was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leak in Kingsman strikes again. This is getting to be a problem.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me! We're halfway through the fic now, and I promise some strides in the Merlin/Harry department are coming soon. Thanks again for the comments and kudos, they always make my day.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @ [fvckingspectacvlar](http://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com) Feel free to stop by!
> 
> Next Chapter: Harry's frustrations with his recent missions and with Merlin come to a head. Questionable decisions abound, and Merlin gets some exciting news.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes some bad decisions, Lancelot deserves to be shot, and Merlin gets some welcome news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:
> 
> We're earning that explicit rating this week! Exhibitionism, homophobia,

To say that things shifted between Merlin and Harry after their late night conversation was both somehow an overestimation and an underestimation of the events that followed.  One might even say that it was the same as it ever was, while at the same time, Harry still felt as if he were desperately trying to grasp at something. He was on the edge of revelation, but couldn’t quite taste it.

He returned to the plane the next morning to find Merlin  _ still _ awake and a little wild about the eyes, but stretched out on his stomach on the floor in front of his monitoring station, tinkering with what appeared to be a net of wires, while some sort of country-western music blasted over the jet’s speakers.

There was a strip of skin visible across his back where his shirt rode up that Harry wanted to lick.

“What kind of racket is this,” Harry asked as he secured the cabin door behind him.

Merlin startled, burning himself in the process then let out a string of curses that Harry filed away for future use.  He flushed as he pushed up then twisted about to sit on the floor in the middle of his mess. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yes,” Harry drawled.  “That much is obvious. I repeat my previous question: What kind of racket is this?”

Merlin frowned as he began to clean up his mess.  “It’s Johnny Cash.” He had the audacity to look at Harry as if  _ he _ were the one that was insane, as he gathered up his tools and net before standing.

Harry turned off the music as Merlin disappeared into the cockpit to get them in the air, and Harry settled in,ready for a flight home that was as quiet and awkward as the thirteen hours there.

Harry was wrong.

The night before had changed something between them, though Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on what.    He didn’t linger on it-- not when there were reports that needed, written and  _ not while  _ Merlin needed instruction on how to make a proper martini.

The undercurrent of lust was still there, but for once it wasn’t overpowering.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed himself in the company of another person that he  _ wasn’t having sex with _ so much before-- even if Merlin had a horrid taste in music.

It was unfortunate then, that after their debrief Merlin seemed to disappear into the bowels of headquarters, never to be seen again.  The absence was inconvenient both to Harry’s plans to seduce the handler, and his sudden need for companionship.

He spent one day hanging around the common areas, pretending to read one of his books, between extended walks for Mr. Pickle, after that, Harry sought distraction elsewhere.

Harry had seventy-two hours of leave, and he wasn’t going to waste them brooding around HQ, trying to figure out just why he was bothered by Merlin's disappearing act.

He thought about sex instead.  It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Merlin had him so keyed up, that it was hard to think of anything else.

The longer he thought about it, he began to wonder if Rupert just hadn’t been the right  _ type _ to scratch this particular itch.  He was more along Harry’s ilk, than Merlin’s and perhaps he  _ needed _ someone more like Merlin to work all this  _ shite _ out of his system.

Harry was no stranger to the London clubbing scene.  In the time between finishing his schooling and joining the military, he’d tried to dance, drink, and fuck his indecision away.  It was a low point, and one that he wasn’t proud of, but he wasn’t complaining about the end result either.

There was no better life that Harry could imagine living.

So, with forty-eight hours left of leave, Harry put on his rattiest clothing and escaped through one of the many London exits  _ not _ connected through the shop.  The club his feet led him to was in the basement of a more  _ respectable _ establishment.  The music was indiscernible save for the thump of the bass, and Harry could taste the sweat that lingered in the air from the press of bodies on the dance floor.  It was rundown, with lights that flickered instead of flashed, and cracks in the plaster on the walls.

It was perfect, and Harry, even in his cheapest slacks and button down, stood out like a sore thumb.  Her gave it twenty minutes before he had his pick of men. Until then, Harry needed a drink, and then, he wanted to dance.

  
  


His plan to find a distraction was going better than expected.  After sucking down a drink that was too sweet and blue to be healthy, it only took about ten minutes for a body to press against his on the dance floor.

“Did y’take a wrong turn somewhere, mate?”  The accent was all wrong, but the splay of hands over Harry’s waist was delicious.  The unruly mop of dark hair was only a bonus. Harry dropped his hands on the man’s shoulders and trailed his fingers down his arms.  He would do.

It took a moment to decide what his new partner would respond to better.  Should Harry bat his eyes and play the lost little lamb, or take his friend by the bollocks and take what he wanted? He gave the man a long look up and down and rolled his hips.  Somewhere in between. The whole process took scant seconds before Harry broke into a coy grin.

“No.  I know exactly where I am.”  The,  _ and exactly what I want _ , went unsaid, but the man was quick on the uptake.

His own grin grew wider as the hands on Harry’s waist pulled him closer.  The man was already so hard that it must have been painful. He let out a soft grunt, as Harry pressed their hips together.

“Figured you’d be the type.  Got yourself an itch to scratch, guv?”  Again, he proved to be the  _ right _ partner, as he kept up the delicious grinding motion and dropped a hand from Harry’s hip to splay his fingers wide over Harry’s arse.

“Something like that,” Harry purred.  He was getting dry humped, right there in the middle of the dance floor and it was  _ almost _ perfect.  Perfect would have been a deeper voice, and lighter eyes-- just a tad shorter than Harry himself, with a Scottish brogue.

Perfect would have been-- no.  Harry wasn’t going there. Not tonight.  “That’s it,” he praised as he arched his back and rolled his hips to the bass beat.  It was too filthy to be considered dancing, but that wasn’t stopping Harry from doing it.  “Show me how rough you are.”

“Rough, eh,” the man echoed before leaning down to nip at Harry’s neck.

Harry reveled in it for just a moment, before he pushed the man’s head back to eye level.  “No marks above the collar line,” he cautioned.

“And if I do it anyway?”

“The cheek of you,” Harry hummed, before his hand drifted from the man’s jaw to wrench him further back with a hand curled in his hair.  “You break the rules, then you don’t get the pleasure of my mouth around your cock.”

They held eye contact for a moment, before the man’s eyes drifted down to Harry’s lips and he smiled.  “Alright, kitten. Sheath the claws. How’s about we take a quick trip to the loo then? That rough enough for you?”

Harry let go of the man’s hair as he considered the proposal.  “Better than the back alley.” He returned the smile, then curled a finger in the man’s belt buckle and gave him a sharp tug.

They stumbled off together in the direction of the bathroom.

There wasn’t a person in their path that didn’t know where they were headed and why.  Harry was handsy on a normal day, but tonight, he was impatient and  _ aching to be handled. _  They didn’t even make it into a stall, before Harry was on his knees, working at the man’s belt.  He didn’t  _ care _ if anyone was around to see.  Let them watch. Harry looked  _ magnificent _ on his knees.

“Christ, guv.  If I’d known you was gaggin’ so hard for it, I wouldn’t’ve wasted all that time ruttin’ on the dance floor.  Ease up a bit, would ya?”

Harry backed off long enough for his dance partner to get his cock out of his trousers and curl a hand in Harry’s hair.  “That’s better. Now open that mouth of yours and fuckin’ take it.”

_ That _ was the treatment Harry was looking for.  He licked his lips, and barely started to drop his jaw, when the man tightened his grip, and pushed his cock inside.  He didn't hesitate for even a moment, just took the wet heat of Harry’s mouth like it belonged to him, not stopping even when Harry fought not to gag.

Harry struggled a bit, his nostrils flaring as his lungs began to burn, but the man’s hands held him tight.  The bathroom seemed quieter. The wet sound of his throat clicking as the man rolled his hips without withdrawing, echoed among the stalls, though, beyond the roaring in his ears, Harry could hear others moving about the space.

“Fuck yeah.  Give it to him.”

The audience still didn’t matter.  Harry’s hands tightened in the fabric of the man’s trousers, and  _ finally _ he pulled back, allowing Harry to gasp for breath.  He coughed and wheezed, only some of it for show. His entire body was tingling with the loss of control.  The man used the hand in Harry’s hair to tilt his head back and they looked at each other for a long moment before Harry arched a brow and croaked, “Well?”

And they were off.  Harry’s nostrils flared as the man thrust back into his mouth, fucking him just rough enough to keep Harry squirming on the hard tile.  It was the exact type of too much that Harry had been on the prowl for.

_ This _ was how  _ Merlin _ would fuck.

His head took on a fuzzy feeling that made the noise of the loo and the small crowd they were attracting fade away.  It made the ache of his knees and jaw go distant. It--

A sharp voice cut through the fog like a knife, and sent Harry reeling.

“This is depraved.  Even for you.”

Harry flailed and twisted off his partner’s cock with a pop.  The man cursed, and tried to keep his grip on Harry, but Harry only had eyes for the man that had approached them from behind.

“This is a new personal low.  Really. I could have gone my entire life without seeing  _ any _ of this, and for God’s sake, wipe your mouth.  That is disgusting.”

Even if he wasn’t wearing a bespoke three-piece suit, Lancelot would have stuck out like a sore thumb.  It was in the way he stood, and the utter revulsion in his gaze as he looked down at Harry.

Years down the line, Harry would find the memory of this moment hilarious, but now, in the heat of it, he was  _ incensed. _ Lancelot’s presence meant one thing; that his night was over.

He leaned over and grabbed a paper towel from a nearby dispenser, and wiped off his mouth--  _ not _ because Lancelot told him to, but because it was polite,  _ and _ it gave Harry a moment to choose his next words.

“Hey, fuck off old man.  We’re busy.” 

Harry’s partner took the chance for Harry to make the perfect snide comment away from him.

Lancelot was unimpressed.  “I’d kindly suggest that you take your losses and make yourself scarce.  I’m sure that you’ll find another willing strumpet in no time, but this one  _ will _ be coming with me.”

“Or nor at all,” Harry grumbled as he found his feet.  Any euphoria that he’d been on the edge of was well gone, because the most damnable part of all this was that Lancelot was right.  Harry would go with him, without question, because for the man to be standing here, in the shadiest club in the West End, something big must be happening, and Harry wanted in on it.

Still, Harry cast a regretful look to the cock he’d just had down his throat.  “Sorry, darling. Duty calls.”

His dance partner scowled as he tucked his dick away.  He was tense, and his shoulders drew up as if he was about to take a swing-- and Harry almost wished that he would.  A short tussle would go a long way to working out his frustration. Behind him, Lancelot shifted his weight, and just like that, the man thought better of it, stalking past them on his way out of the loo with a growled, “Fuckin’ berks.”

Lancelot’s own scowl deepened.  “Charming. Now. Come along. We’re behind schedule, and I  _ need _ to go a round in the decontamination chamber after setting foot in this  _ place. _ ”    


He turned, and they left the bathroom at a brisk place, that had the crowd parting around them as they approached the door.  Harry felt a bit like a naughty school-child trailing behind his nanny to his father’s office. It was a familiar feeling, that did nothing to improve Harry’s mood.

“What is all of this about then,” he asked as they stepped into the chilly night air.  His thin cotton shirt was appropriate for the crowded club, but did little to ward off the outside cold. 

The Kingsman cab rolled up, and Lancelot stepped inside without acknowledging Harry’s question.  “Don’t touch anything,” he ordered as Harry slid into the seat next to him.

Harry rolled his eyes.  “You’re overreacting.”

“You disgust me,” Lancelot snapped back as the cab rolled into motion.  “You were widely regarded to be our most talented recruit in  _ decades _ , and what do you do with all that talent? Sleep around with whatever crosses your path?  You could be on the front lines, dismantling regimes, but instead, you’re in seedy clubs, on your knees, not even limiting your  _ perversion _ to what’s required for the mission.”

“The work I do is still important,” Harry replied, his voice soft in the way it got when he was  _ truly _ angry.  Lancelot was right, of course.  Harry  _ could _ take more missions that threw him into a whirlwind of violence and death, and he would  _ excel  _ at it, but Harry had started down that path, and felt that little thing inside him that  _ delighted _ in it all.

Even now, he’d  _ wanted _ the man in the club to take a swing, just so Harry could answer in kind.

It was startling, realizing that you were not just capable of that kind of violence, but  _ enjoyed it _ , and Harry was man enough to admit that he’d frightened  _ himself _ during his earlier missions.  It was a part of himself that Harry was still learning to accept.

Arthur was the one to tell him to take his time, and offered an alternative.

That he enjoyed his honeypot missions was an easier pill to swallow.  It took more work, to seduce a mark than it did to poison his drink, and sex was well, sex.  Harry wasn’t going to apologize for liking that.

“And what I do in my free time, is frankly, none of your business.  I had seventy-two hours of mandatory leave to do with as I wished, and I was  _ doing as I wished.” _

“So long as  _ what you wish _ doesn’t reflect badly on the organization, or yourself.”

Harry laughed then.  “So, that’s what this is really about.  _ Your _ reputation.”

Lancelot didn’t even bother denying it.  “You were  _ my _ recommendation, and everything you do reflects on  _ me _ .”

“I suppose you’re not going to accuse me of sucking Arthur’s cock to get my position next?”  Harry knew, that despite his successes he was not the legacy that Chester wanted. He also knew that Chester, would spend the rest of his life chasing that ideal that didn’t exist.

“Now you’re being ridiculous.  And contrary,” Lancelot replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if he hadn’t spent the last five minutes insulting Harry.  “It’s beneath you, or it should be.”

Harry fumed, and returned the dismissal with a stony silence.

Lancelot sighed and looked at his own reflection in the window.  “Yes, I care about my reputation, but despite what you may choose to believe, I do care about you, your place, and your future.  You should care  _ more _ about your own reputation before it comes back to bite you in the arse.”

“Is it that I enjoy sucking cock, Lancelot, or that I’m not sucking  _ yours?” _ It was childish, yes, but worth seeing Lancelot sputter over.  Harry raised a brow and dared him to answer.

“Fine,” he spat.  “You’re impossible to talk to, and we’re close enough that you can fucking walk the rest of the way to the shop.”  He held up his hand, then the cab pulled to the side and rolled to a stop. “Report directly to Arthur.”

Glad for the respite, Harry opened the door before the cab had even fully come to a stop and started to step out.  He was closing the door behind him, when he heard Lancelot grumble. “Only Hart spare, and he had to be a fucking molly.”

That  _ need _ for violence that so frightened Harry welled up within him again like a bitter acid.  Lancelot really was the  _ worst _ .

 

\------------------------------

 

Upon their return from Mombasa, Merlin was granted a mandatory seventy-two hours of leave.  He was told, that this was standard for agents returning from field missions, and since he had played at being a field-handler, he was granted the same reprieve.  He thanked Mordred, went to Medical for his also mandatory check up, then spent the next three days in his quarters in the midst of an engineering binge.

It was cleansing.  Electricity never let him down.

When Merlin resurfaced, his head felt clearer than it had in weeks.  There had been no information packets to be quizzed on, or monitors to watch.  No people to complicate things; because, people  _ were _ complicated in a way machines were not.

He felt ready to take on the world,  _ and _ he had a new prototype to show Harry.

Harry.

He was the most complicated thing of all.

Merlin still wanted him.  Even three days of isolation wouldn’t solve that, if listening to the man seduce  _ someone else _ hadn’t even put a dent in it, but Merlin  _ did _ feel better equipped to handle that want.   He could at least face Harry again without embarrassing himself, and  _ that _ was becoming an issue, by the end of their flight home.

Merlin had caught sight of a small bruise, low on Harry’s neck and just about lost his damn mind wanting to cover it with a mark of his own.

He controlled himself, and didn’t think Harry had noticed, though the man’s obvious flirting hadn’t let up a bit.

It wasn’t personal. Just a few days ago Harry had been flirting just as outrageously with Guinevere, and before that at dinner with Percival.  Merlin just had to remember that.

Which brought him back to the prototype in a way.

Harry was the one to put the idea for the design into Merlin’s mind, and while the umbrella was far from being battle ready the new mesh that Merlin had painstakingly weaved was stretched over the reinforced skeleton, and was, for the most part operational.  It wasn’t anything fancy, yet. But if the mesh held up to battle, then it would be the framework for things to come.

The only thing left was the testing.

He wanted Harry to be the one to test it, so it was unfortunate, that when Merlin reported for monitor duty and asked Mordred where the man in question was, he found out that Harry had been assigned a new mission the day before.  Honeypot. Long term.

Merlin pushed his disappointment away.  It was childish, and besides, that meant he had at least another two weeks to continue to refine the design in his free time.  The wiring could  _ always _ be more efficient.

Not, that he had much time to work on it.  Though, his end of Harry’s mission had been successful, Merlin  _ was _ still in training, and his schedule was once again in full swing.  His hour in the mornings with Harry was repurposed during the agent’s absence to another hour spent with Mordred, reviewing reports from Intelligence.

The only time he heard any about Harry, or his mission, were when he was on monitor duty with Dagonet.  He checked in at his regular intervals, and for the first time in Merlin’s experience, everything seemed to be going to plan.

Until he called for extraction.

“Alright, Galahad.  Stand by for instructions.” Dagonet closed the channel and paged Mordred.

The older man appeared moments later, and frowned when Dagonet relayed the request.  “Already? We were expecting him to take another two days, at least. Tristan is still on assignment with Lancelot.”  He looked between them, his eyes settling on Merlin, and seemed to make his decision. “Alright. Merlin, you’re with me.  Dagonet, return to your duties.”

Merlin slid from his seat, and moved to follow Mordred as he headed back towards his office.  “You’ve done well in your training,” he commented, as he let them both into the darkened room.  “Well enough that while I was hesitant to send you to Mombasa, I’m not so hesitant now.”

He flipped on the lights, and circled around his desk, gesturing for Merlin to sit.  “Sir?”

“It’s customary,” Mordred began.  “For a handler upon completion of their training to join an agent in the field, for a minor mission.”  He pulled up a file on his monitor, and projected it to the screen on the wall. “In normal circumstances, it’s something simple, a dead drop, or a wire tap.  Nothing dangerous or requiring combat, just a little something to give the handler a taste of how the other half lives-- to know what it feels like. In a way, you’ve already done that.”

Merlin sat up straighter in his seat.  At no point since he accepted his new position, was there any mention about how long his training period would last; until now. 

To be honest, he wasn’t sure that he was ready.  Sitting behind the monitor meant the success of the mission, and the survival of your agent, was in your hands.  He could run all the simulations in the world, but doing the job, for real, was a different beast.

He brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his pants, and did his best to not seem nervous.

Mordred saw right through him, and smiled.  “Now’s not the time to start doubting yourself, lad.  You proved that you had the instinct to do the job that day in the coffee shop.  Everything else has been about forging the natural talent you already had into a tool that could be used.”

“All this talk about forging, perhaps you should have codenamed me Excalibur instead.”

“Perhaps,” Mordred mused.  “But I believe that you’ll grow into the name I’ve already given you.  I know that it doesn’t feel as if you’ve been training long, and you haven’t, but to be frank my boy, you absorb knowledge like a sponge.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

It was that tone of absolute faith, paired with the kind smile that continued to throw Merlin.  He flushed, despite himself. Such things were out of his realm of experience. It threw him every time, but Mordred was unwavering with his support, and had been since the moment they laid eyes on each other.

“The handling department has been short staffed for too long, and with the way tensions are rising again between Russia and  _ the colonies _ , I want you experienced and comfortable working before the world goes to shit, and we need all hands on deck.”

“You’re not old enough to be calling the States  _ the colonies, _ ” Merlin drawled, with a frown.  Far as he was aware, things were at a stalemate on that front, but Mordred was almost dismissive about it.

His apprehensions about ending his training period weren’t gone, but Merlin could see Mordred’s stance.

“None of that cheek during briefing.  This is a serious moment. Now, where was I,” the older man asked, as if he wasn’t continuing to shift Merlin’s world on its axis.

“I think, that you were about to assign me a mission?  Sir.”

“Ah, yes.”  Mordred gestured to the file on the screen.  It was dominated by two images: a picture of Harry, and the man Merlin assumed to be his mark.  “While you have already accompanied an agent on a field mission, the parameters weren’t quite right for the spirit of a final mission.  Tristan’s absence has afforded us an unexpected chance to give your career it’s proper start.

“As you know, Galahad called for an extraction.  For the past two weeks he’s been gathering information while posing as the lover of a man we have tied into Dubois’ empire.   _ Those _ details are not pertinent to the success of your mission.”

Which meant he was being tight lipped because Internal Affairs still hadn’t found the leak.

“He has arranged for them both to be spending their evening in this club.”  The screen changed to display the exterior of a brightly lit building with  _ Club Heartbeat _ scrawled in flashing neon over the doors.  “Despite it’s appearances, it claims to be an upscale establishment, catering to London’s elite.  Your mission is to go inside, and extract Galahad  _ while _ leaving his cover identity intact.”

The screen changed back to the image of Harry, this time alone, with information about his cover scrolling down the side.  Merlin scanned the text quickly, taking note of his name, and the personality notes.

James.  Vapid. Blatant homosexual.

Who wrote these dossiers? 

“How you achieve that is at your discretion.  You have two hours to plan and any resources that would be available to Tristan are available to you, but Merlin.”  Mordred’s firm tone drew Merlin’s eyes away from the file. “Don’t overthink this. It only needs to be a simple in and out.  Your name for this exercise will be Michael.” He removed the disc from the console and slid it towards Merlin. “I’ll have Dagonet inform Galahad to expect you.”

The dismissal was clear.  Merlin stood, his mind already racing as he thought up scenarios and discarded the ones that were too elaborate or wouldn’t work.  Keep it simple. “Yessir. I’ll be ready.”

“Good.”  If it was possible, Mordred seemed more eager than Merlin felt.  They shared a look, then Merlin began to take his leave. “And Merlin?”

He stopped and burned back to the man at the desk.  “Sir?”

“Congratulations.”

“I haven’t succeeded yet,” Merlin scoffed.  “This could all go tits up in about a hundred different ways.”

“You will,” Mordred replied, with more of that unwavering faith.  “I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  
  
  
  


**Club Heartbeat - London, England**

 

Merlin stepped out of the cab and looked up at the club in front of him with distaste.  The building was a repurposed disco, forcibly changed with the times as the bubbly music went out of style.  It was somehow worse than the picture made it out to be, but looked like exactly the kind of place Harry’s cover would favor.  He resigned himself as he paid his cover fee and slipped through the doors. 

From the seating areas, to the bar, to the dance floor, the club was packed.  David Bowie blasted through the speakers, barely recognizable as anything other than  _ loud. _  Merlin could feel the hum of the bass in his molars. 

Now he just needed to do what might be the most complicated part of this little operation. Find Galahad. 

“I’m in,” Merlin sighed.  It was strange being on this side of the coms.  It was hard to stifle the urge to yell into the microphone.  He could barely hear himself think over the sounds of the club, how could he expect the microphone to make sense of the noise?  “Do we have a location?”

“He prefers the area near the end of the bar,” Mordred replied.  “I’m afraid I can’t give you much more than that.”

“Alright.”  The crowd was even thicker around the bar.  Merlin pushed his way toward it, cursing under his breath.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy going out.  Whenever he was stressed and in need of a little relief, he’d hit up a party or club, have a couple drinks, and perhaps, if he was lucky, get laid.  He’d had his fair share of restroom trysts-- quick, convenient, and anonymous. This place though, it was filled with the upper class arseholes with more money than sense that he actively tried to ignore.

Ironic, he knew, that he’d taken a job where he was surrounded by said upper class arseholes.  That was just his life now.

He squirmed his way to the bar long enough to get a shot of whisky, then backed off to cruise down the line.

When he did find  _ Galahad _ , his mouth went dry.  Logically, Merlin had known that Galahad wouldn’t be dressed in his regular Kingsman issue suit, but this; Merlin didn’t have the words.

Harry was lounged on a barstool with his back against the bar and his legs crossed.  His trousers were skin-tight, accentuating the slender length of Harry’s legs, and were more hole than not.  In contrast his black tee-shirt hung loose around his frame, showing a hint of collarbone as the wide collar slipped down around his shoulder.  If the clothes weren’t bad enough, Harry’s normally controlled locks were transformed into a nest of wild curls that was just begging for Merlin to claw his fingers into.

Fuck.

He wanted to taste the exposed line of Harry’s neck. 

Harry was smiling and laughing and looking up at the man that stood next to him--too close.  He was all soft doe glances and just as soft words with small touches that were better suited to a bedroom than the middle of a busy club.

Merlin downed the shot, and wished he had another.  He licked his lips, and swallowed around the lump that was still in his throat despite the alcohol.  “I have visual. Am I cleared to make contact?”

“We have confirmation from Galahad.  Proceed when you’re ready.”

Merlin wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready.  He’d underestimated how seeing Harry in such a casual situation would affect him.  The man wore his suits like sin, it could only get worse from there. All those hints of bared skin were fucking distracting.  “I’m going in.”

His mission was a simple one.  Galahad’s mission was complete, and he needed an extraction without burning his cover.  It was Tristan’s job, really, but the other agent was with Percival in Guam. Merlin was the next best choice, mostly because he was the right age to fit in, and Mordred seemed to get some kind of amusement at throwing him and Galahad together.

He approached the bar, and slammed his empty shot glass down next to Galahad’s elbow.  “Tae fuck, James,” he growled, purposefully speaking with a heavier accent. Galahad’s eyes widened, he sat up, back going ramrod straight, and his jaw dropped as his gaze locked on Merlin.  “Y’shameless tart.” Merlin shoved a finger right up under Galahad’s nose, accusing.

“Hey,” the man protested, stepping around Galahad to get between them.

Merlin didn’t let him.  He curled his fingers around Galahad’s upper arm, and gave it a jank, pulling Galahad down from the barstool.  He stumbled into Merlin. Galahad’s fingers clutched at Merlin’s jacket as he fought to regain his balance. “What were y’thinking James?  That I wouldn’t find out?”

Galahad was yet to speak since Merlin approached.  His eyes were still wide and locked on Merlin’s face as he seemed to struggle to find his words.  “M-Michael,” he finally stammered as Merlin gave him a little shake.

“Oh, so you remember my name at least,” Merlin drawled, contempt dripping from every syllable.    


It should have worried him, how easy it was to play the scorned lover.  The feelings he’d been pushing away bubbled up in the heat of the moment and Merlin, just let it all go.  He relished in the feeling of Harry pressed against his chest, and the startled look in his eyes. He’d finally managed to make the man speechless.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. It was as close as he was going to get.

“M-Michael. I didn’t mean,”  Galahad stammered again.

“Didn’t mean what?  To disappear for a fuckin’ week, and when I find y’again?  You’re here, dressed like y’are with who? Who is he, James?”

The mark was trying in vain to pull Merlin off of Galahad.  “Now I don’t know what’s going on here, but if you don’t--”

Merlin whirled on him, without letting go of Galahad’s arm.  “Was I talkin’ to ya? Shut the fuck up. I’ll get to you when I’m ready to get to you.”  He turned back to Galahad. “Well? Were you with him? I want to hear you say it.”

They were drawing attention now--more than Merlin wanted.  It wasn’t just the rubberneckers that they had to worry about with this little play, but the ones that would take issue to a couple of  _ queers _ right out in the open.  They were in too deep now, though, and Merlin was too swept up to care what a bigot or two thought.

“I was,” Galahad confessed, looking near to tears.  Merlin pushed him away, then grabbed at his own hair, the emotions leftover from watching the man go off with Hastings bubbling up.

“Fuck, James.”  He turned away and down, eyes clenching shut as he took a half a step back.  Galahad moved with him, not allowing him to put any space between them. His hands remained clenched in Merlin’s jacket with a hint of desperation.

“Please, Michael.  I.. It didn’t mean anything.”

Merlin covered Galahad’s hands with his own, and tugged them away.  “No. Fuck. I should have known. A fucking week, James. I’m...I’m done forgiving you for this.”

It was then, that Galahad did something unexpected.  He completely ignored the stammering mark, in favor of clinging tight to Merlin once again, and slamming their lips together.  Merlin’s mind went blank. He’d imagined Harry’s lips on his a dozen times, but  _ this _ wasn’t how he’d thought it would happen.

It didn’t reek of desperation, as the scenario might have warranted, but of pure, unadulterated  _ lust.   _ From the moment Harry’s lips touched his, Merlin could feel how much Harry wanted him in that moment.  A soft moan welled up in his throat as he responded in kind. He couldn’t help it. Weeks of pent up frustration and  _ want _ spilled over.

“Merlin,” a voice sounded through his ear, and shot through him like lightning.  He pushed back from Harry as if he’d been shocked. His chest was heaving, as he tried to regain control of the situation, but came up short.  It was impossible for him to tear his gaze from Harry’s lips. They were wet, and pink, and Merlin wanted to taste them again.

This was...he couldn’t.

“No.”  There was no telling how much time had passed, but the mark was still there, still angry and confused.  “No, James. No more. Y’can sleep around all y’like, but I’m not gonna be the one you come home to.” He gave Galahad another little shrug, then spun on his heel.

Before, he’d had to push his way through the crowd, but there must have been something in the way he moved, because people scrambled to get out of his way.  Behind him, he could hear Galahad call out, but he didn’t stop until he reached the cool, clear night air.

Merlin sucked in a deep breath, then slid into the waiting cab.  “I’m clear,” he said with more conviction than he felt.

Now that the moment was over, he could remind himself that it hadn’t been real.  It was part of the job. Nothing more, nothing less. He would get over this stupid crush.   _ He would. _

 

\-------------------

 

Harry slid into the waiting cab.

“Are you alright, sir?”  His gaze snapped up at the driver’s question.  It was then, he realized, he was shaking.

“Yes.  I’m fine.  The mission was successful.  It’s time to go home.”

The last few months were some of the strangest in Harry’s life.  He’d never felt so out of control.

He crossed his legs and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.    


Harry admitted that he’d misjudged himself, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.  This thing with Merlin was spiraling and consuming, and they weren’t even fucking.  All his attempts to distract himself were going to shit, and even two weeks straight of bedding a mark couldn’t compare to a single kiss given in the heat of the moment, before Merlin stormed away.

Harry wasn’t sure what part of the equation was more maddening; his dissatisfaction, or the lack of reaction from the object of his apparent affections.    


The incident with Lancelot had put a sour taste in Harry’s mouth, but it was a blessing to be sent out again on an extended mission.

This mission was another chance to get his head back in the game.    


Edward, his mark, wasn’t the bit of rough that he’d been after in the club, but he was everything Harry could want in a lover; rough, but considerate enough not to mark him up and leave him hanging.  The fact that he was laundering money for a criminal empire only put a slight damper on things. That knowledge only made it easier for Harry to pull away from his otherwise attentive lover once he was asleep at night, and transmit every piece of evidence he could find.

It should have been a fulfilling mission.  Harry spent a week going back and forth between clubs and Edward’s home, fucking as much as physically possible, and it still wasn’t enough. For the first time, Harry found the work empty.

He went through the motions; got off so much that even he was beginning to feel a bit tired of it, and reported in to Dagonet like a good agent.

It just wasn’t what Harry wanted.

What he wanted was a lanky Scotsman, that laughed with Harry when he reported in, listened when Harry was feeling maudlin, and sang ridiculous country-western songs in his deep baritone that didn’t quite match his lanky frame.  Christ, how that voice went right to Harry’s cock, even when Merlin was being ridiculous-- especially when Merlin was being ridiculous. 

Harry reached down to palm himself through his trousers-- just a quick little press that the driver wouldn’t notice.

Christ, even the memory of  _ the kiss _ was almost too much.

Merlin stalking into his line of sight and slamming a shot glass down by Harry’s head was unexpected.

Harry was surprised, but pleased, when Dagonet informed him that Merlin would be handling his extraction that evening.  He’d expected the Scot to show in one of his jumpers, irritable as ever, and ready to try and sweep Harry off his feet. Harry had arranged himself  _ just so _ to antagonize him, and perhaps push their little game to a breaking point.

The leather though.  Never, in all of his imagination, had Harry been prepared for Merlin encased in  _ leather. _  How could a  _ jacket _ be so enticing?  Harry had been painfully hard from the first whisper of that growled brogue in his ear.  He almost gave up the con, because the sound and sight of Merlin-- Harry just couldn’t. He couldn’t anything.

All those little signs that he’d been willfully ignoring hit him like a two-by-four the moment Merlin started manhandling him.  What Harry was feeling wasn’t frustration, or even a school boy crush. It was an honest to God infatuation. How horrible.

He shifted in his seat, and changed how his legs were crossed.

This couldn’t be allowed to go on.  While Merlin was fun to needle, this  _ thing _ he was feeling, it was already interfering with his work.  It wasn’t a  _ game _ that he could afford to take his time with.  Harry had no choice. He needed to seduce Merlin, and get it out of his system.  Perhaps, once he’d gotten his taste, and it didn’t live up to fantasies--because it never did-- Harry could go back to teasing the man without worry.

The cab came to a stop outside of the shop.  Harry slid from his seat, adjusted his trousers again, and prepared himself for what would come next.

He passed off the data to Mordred then went in search of Merlin.

He found Merlin in the tiny bathroom attached to Central.  His hair was already damp and in little porcupine clumps, as he washed the product from his hair and face.  Harry almost snickered at the raccoon circles of the half removed eyeliner as he leaned against the doorframe.  “Pity,” he hummed instead. “That was a good look on you.”

Merlin tensed as he looked up at Harry through the reflection in the mirror.  “Galahad. I thought that you’d be eager to clean up.”

That was a dismissal if Harry had ever heard one.  “I thought I told you to call me Harry while we’re in private,” he shot back.  The truth was he rather did want to clean up. He had glitter in places he didn’t even want to think about, but he was riding the high of the pleasantly buzzed and a successful mission.  Harry was unstoppable, and he was not backing down.

Merlin huffed and went back to washing his face.  He’d stripped the jacket at some point, leaving him in one of the thin black tee-shirts he’d worn during sparring. The threadbare cotton did nothing to hide the tension in Merlin’s shoulders.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“What?  Calling me by my name?”

It was impossible to miss the way Merlin’s eyes kept drifting to Harry’s exposed shoulder through the mirror’s reflection.  The small glances emboldened Harry, and embarrassed Merlin. His gaze wandered again, then he seemed to give himself a little shake.  He turned the wink off, then lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face. Then, it was Harry’s turn to stare. He’d known that Merlin was fit -- it was impossible not to after sparing together, but this was the first time Harry got to  _ see _ the muscles.

Jesus wept.  Merlin was wasted wearing those jumpers of his.

“Don’t think you’re getting away without talking about this.”  Harry crossed his arms, as he swallowed against his suddenly dry mouth, and pushed away from the frame to block Merlin’s only exit.

Merlin ticked a brow and raised his chin as he turned to face Harry.  Harry could see the gears turning, as Merlin considered the best way to go through him.  That was ridiculous. Harry was still better at hand-to-hand combat by far, and they both knew it.  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Merlin insisted from between ground teeth.

“Bullshit.”  Harry called him on the lie with a tilt of his own chin.  “I know what I felt during that spar. I’ve been trying for  _ weeks _ to get you to break down and  _ act. _  I know that you’re attracted to me, and, I think that you’d have to be blind to miss my attraction to you.  We can’t go on like this.”

“We have to.” Merlin seemed to come to the same conclusion as Harry.  He wasn’t getting out of the bathroom without talking with Harry. With a sigh, he leaned back against the sink, and cast his gaze towards the ceiling.  “There’s nothing that can come of any of this. It’s just some stupid--”

“No,” Harry interrupted, as he took a step forward, crowding into Merlin’s personal space.  “If it were some stupid crush, or just being horny, then anyone would do. Anyone at all. Edward was like a dream you understand.  He had this way of gripping my--”

Harry should have seen it coming.  One second he was pressing closer to Merlin, as he extolled Edward’s virtues, and the next, he was pinned to the wall, air knocked from his lungs, with no hope of getting it back because Merlin’s lips were  _ devouring _ his own. 

His back arched as Merlin’s hands found his arse and  _ squeezed. _

It might have been the lack of air, or the impact with the wall, or any number of things, but Harry was seeing stars, and his head was swimming.  His eyes drifted closed, as he clenched at Merlin’s shoulders. A thigh pressed between his own, further pinning him to the wall. Harry’s hips jerked, and he whined.

Merlin answered with a low growl, that had Harry uncomfortably hard in his trousers.

_ Oh, Jesus Christ. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Things are heating up a bit!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It had one of my favorite scenes to write in it. Also, Chester is a dick. Thank you as always, for reading, commenting, leaving kudos etc. 
> 
> I can be found over at [fvckingspectacvlar](http://fvckingspecacvlar.tumblr.com).
> 
> Next chapter: _"It was fun, and something we needed to get out of the way. No need to make a big deal about it."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all been building to this, but with both their jobs on the line, is it worth the risk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Explicit, Classism, Homophobia

###  Chapter Six

 

Harry wrapped his legs around Merlin’s waist.

Despite what the other agents like to say about him, Harry wasn’t particularly romantic.  Oh, he was every bit the gentleman his parents raised him to be, but that didn’t lend itself to the matters of the heart so much as one might think.  He just didn’t have the time for it, or the inclination really. Not when he could be hanging on for dear life, while pinned to a restroom wall.

Merlin was just the right amount of rough and uninhibited to drive Harry, who went through his life trying to be neither while still somehow appearing to be, absolutely wild.

This was the best thing to happen to Harry in  _ months _ .    


It was like someone had flipped a switch in Merlin.  Once he decided to stop denying their attraction, he threw himself into it, full bodied.  Harry had known, of course, from the way Merlin fought, that he’d be in for a ride, but he did so love when his already lofty expectations were exceeded.

Merlin’s hands were still cupping his arse, and his teeth were worrying a patch of skin over Harry’s jugular.  Harry didn’t know if he was disappointed or not that the pressure wouldn’t be enough to mark him. His head thunked back against the wall that he was pressed against, as he curled a hand around the back of Merlin’s neck.  The short hairs there were prickly against Harry’s palm.

He wasn’t sure why that fact stood out to him so much.

Harry let out a whine, that Merlin quickly swallowed, by pressing their lips back together.  He licked his way into Harry’s mouth, then pulled back, only far enough to breath. Their foreheads were still pressed together.  “Quiet,” Merlin ordered, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip. “Even you should be able to do that for five minutes.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Harry rasped, his nails digging into the back of Merlin’s neck.  “I’m sure we’ll be able to go for at least ten.” He couldn’t deny that Merlin had a point, however.  They  _ were _ in Central, the hub of the Kingsman information network.  Anyone could walk in at any moment and catch them.

It only made Harry hotter.

The other thing the other agents liked to say about Harry was that he liked to put on a show.  That one was true. Harry liked it when eyes were on him. He’d liked it, when he was on his knees, drawing a crowd before Lancelot put a stop to his fun, and he liked even the hint of that danger now.  “Please,” he begged, little more than a sigh into Merlin’s lips.

Harry wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, but Merlin seemed to know well enough.  One of his hands left Harry’s ass, to snake between them instead. The way he pressed his palm flat and steady against the bulge in Harry’s trousers had Harry’s back arching.  His thighs clenched as his hips rolled. Merlin didn’t stop him. He allowed Harry to search out his own pleasure against his hand.

Harry’s nails dug into the skin at Merlin’s nape.   _ He _ wasn’t being quite so careful about not leaving marks.

It was simultaneously too much and not enough.  Harry fucked against Merlin’s hand with abandon.  He was riding so close to the edge, and it was  _ infuriating.   _ He had one chance at Merlin and he was going to waste it by coming in his trousers like a teenager?  Disgraceful, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Merlin’s mouth, and his hand, and the rasp of his voice; they were all perfectly designed to drive Harry insane.

“Not yet,” he begged, even as he pressed harder against Merlin’s splayed palm.

Merlin took pity on him and pulled away.  He gave Harry’s arse one last squeeze, then let go, tapping Harry on the thigh to encourage him to drop his legs.  Harry did so, standing on his own two feet, if one could call it that. He was thankful for the wall behind him-- his knees felt as if they were going to buckle.  It wasn’t fair that he was so  _ undone _ and Merlin, he looked just short of breath.

Between the two of them it was  _ Harry _ that was supposed to be the seducer.  He was supposed to be the one taking Merlin apart, inch by inch.    


Harry swayed forward, fevered and desperate, and closed the space between them again.  His deft fingers sought out Merlin’s fly, and then, beyond that Merlin’s cock. He made it as far as pushing Merlin’s trousers low on his hips before Merlin was on him again.  His fingers closed around Merlin’s cock as Merlin pressed him back against the wall, and went right back to Harry’s neck.

“Do’y’even know what you look like?” Merlin growled into Harry’s ear as he thrust into the circle of his fingers.  “Do you? I’ll tell you how you look. Flushed and fucking needy.”

Harry whined.

“There’s a mirror back there.  Take a look at yourself. Go on.  Got my cock in your hand so you think you’re back in control.”  Merlin paused, then tweaked a nipple through Harry’s shirt. Harry had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from sobbing.  “Yeah. You’re in control, alright,” Merlin chuckled.

He used his chin to duck Harry’s gaze upwards, and there he was in the mirror, exactly as Merlin had described.  Harry didn’t even understand how Merlin had  _ known _ to push this button in him.  There it was again, his need to put on a show, even if the only one watching with Harry himself.  His grip tightened on Merlin’s cock, as he watched himself be utterly debauched.

There was still glitter on his cheeks from the club.  It stood out against the full bodied flush that started at the tips of Harry’s ears and worked its way downwards.

“There, you see?”  Merlin nipped along Harry’s jaw, to press their lips back together again.  He thrust into the circle of Harry’s fingers. “So pretty for me. Forgive me for how badly I’ve wanted this.”

That was Harry’s first cue that perhaps, Merlin wasn’t as put together as he thought.  His gaze snapped from his own reflection, back to Merlin’s face. Now that he was really  _ looking _ he could see it.  Merlin’s eyes were a bit wild.  He didn’t seem to know where to look.  From Harry’s face, to his neck, and down to where Harry’s hand was curled around his cock, Merlin’s gaze never stayed in one place for long.

There was tension in his forehead, too.  It was almost hidden by the way his damp hair flopped down across it, but Harry could see it.

He rubbed his thumb over the crown of Merlin’s cock, and Merlin’s hips jerked.  Harry was back in the game. Merlin’s hand stroked down his sides, struggle with Harry’s trousers, but it was too late.  His cock jerked in Harry’s hand, and despite his filthy words about Harry’s lack of control, he was the one to spill over first.

They both seemed to hold their breaths as Merlin coated Harry’s hand with his release, eyes locked, neither one willing to look away.  Harry’s experience had won out over Merlin’s youth in the end.

He didn’t get long to feel triumphant over it.  If anything, Merlin seemed to become more feverish and domineering after his release.  He kissed Harry again, all questing tongue and sharp teeth, then dropped to his knees and sealed his lips around the head of Harry’s cock.  Harry yelped in surprise. He had no recollection of Merlin working him loose from his trousers. “Shit! Merlin!”

Merlin pulled off long enough to hiss  _ shhhh _ then licked him from root to tip.  Harry cursed again, and hid his face in the crook of his arm to muffle his cries.  “Slow d-own,” he begged again, as Merlin’s cheeks went concave during a vicious suck that had Harry writhing.

This time Merlin didn’t take pity on him.  It seemed that there would be no more mercy, not after Harry had so cheekily pulled him off just to prove he could.  Instead, Merlin continued to work him over without so much as a by your leave.

It wasn’t perfect.

Merlin was enthusiastic, but sloppy.  A slick mess of spit dripped down along Harry’s shaft, tickling, until Merlin bobbed his head to slobber all over him again.  Rinse and repeat with the occasional brush of teeth that was too light to be intentional.

It didn’t have to be perfect to be good though.  Wound up as Harry was, the inexperience didn’t matter.  He was coming without warning in a matter of  _ seconds. _

His orgasm hit him like a freight train.  Harry bit down on his arm to silence himself, but it didn’t stop the soft whimpers from escaping, as his hips jerked and he emptied himself into Merlin’s waiting mouth.  It shouldn’t have been different from any other orgasm he had--there was no logical reason for it, but for the first time ever, it took his breath away. This was the high he’d been chasing since the moment he’d laid eyes on Merlin.  Utter satisfaction.

Harry drew in a shaky breath and lowered his arm in time to see Merlin spit out his release into the loo.  Part of him was disappointed, though the greater part knew it had been rather rude of him to just come in the man’s mouth with no warning.  Merlin paused for the moment then flushed the loo, and pushed up to his feet to stagger towards the sink.

His eyes were still wild as he took in Harry’s appearance, and then his owin in the mirror above the sink.  Harry followed his gaze and flinched at the sight of himself so unkept. With his shirt torn the way it was, he looked as if he’d been  _ mauled. _  Still, it was worth the orgasmic high that still had him weak and reeling enough that he had to lean against the wall for support.

Merlin had been careful enough to not bruise Harry, but there were still fading pink spots all along his jaw and neck.  There were deeper, more obvious marks down the back of Merlin’s-- crescent moons in a double line, where Harry hadn’t shown him the same consideration.  They were a mess, the both of them, still fully dressed save from where their spent cocks hung from their trousers, with Merlin’s face slick with spit and Harry’s hand covered in cooling come.

And they were still in Central.

The orgasmic haze was starting to recede, and Harry could admit that cornering Merlin in a public restroom wasn’t his most cunning plan. The very thoughts about getting caught that spurred Harry on earlier, filled him with a sense of impending dread in the afterglow.

“Shite,” Merlin cursed, seeming to come to the same conclusion.  He tucked himself back into his trousers, then turned back to the sink to wash his face.  Harry stayed where he was, slumped against the wall, waiting his turn with the water. It might not have been his brightest idea, but he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

After running his damp hands through his hair, Merlin turned the water off and looked over his shoulder at Harry.  “This can’t happen again.”

“No,” Harry agreed easily, as he worked up the energy to move, now that Merlin was done.  “Just this once to get it out of our systems.” That had been the plan all along. Perhaps now, he could go back to sleeping with whoever struck his fancy.

“And now we can work together without this,” Merlin paused and waved his hand, gesturing between them,” hanging between us.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed again.  He cleaned his hand and the front of his trousers to the best of his ability with a piece of toilet paper then flushed it down the loo.  “It was fun, and something we needed to get out of the way. No need to make a big deal about it.”

“None at all,” Merlin echoed, as he leaned back against the door, to make room for Harry at the sink.  It was difficult to get a read on his mood. The way he sought verbal reassurance  _ might _ have signaled some unease, but his tone, and the way he watched Harry were confident enough.  Perhaps it was that easy.

Harry had no choice but to take things at face value, and believe they were both professionals.  There was no point in lingering. In general, Harry rather enjoyed basking in the afterglow, but this wasn’t the time or place for it.  He and Merlin were in agreement; it was time to go. He was well sated, and all Harry wanted now was a nice long bath in the comfort of his quarters.

He turned and looked at Merlin over his shoulder.  “I’ll see you around.”

It was an easy out.

Merlin smiled, a soft thing that had Harry’s eyes going wide and his heart fluttering.  Well, that was new. “I’m sure I will. Lord knows you love to make a nuisance of yourself.”

Harry gasped and scowled, an expression that Merlin almost bashfully kissed away, with a muttered  _ one for the road, _ before he slipped out the door, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and the stench of sex.

 

\-----------

 

Merlin stepped out of the bathroom and into the bright lights of Central feeling as if he’d gone three rounds with a badger.  His mind was still trying to catch up with the last fifteen minutes, and was for the most part failing.

Harry had been something like out of one of his wet dreams.  He--

“I hear congratulations are in order.”  For a split second Merlin was terrified.  He’d worked so hard since his recruitment and all of that was going to be for nothing over a dalliance in a restroom.

“For what?”

He forced himself to stay relaxed as he turned to face Dagonet.  The man seemed just as sour as ever as he stood to lean against his desk.  What he didn’t look like, was someone that had overheard his co-worker having sex just meters away.

“Your promotion,  _ handler, _ ”  Dagonet’s prejudice wasn’t anything that Merlin hadn’t dealt with before.  There was always someone that wanted to look down on him about something, but tonight, Merlin found he just wasn’t in the mood for it.  Worry aside, he was more relaxed than he’d been in months. He’d just had the hottest, and most confusing sexual encounter of his life, and if Dagonet wasn’t about to rat him out or blackmail him over it, then Merlin just didn’t have the time.

He walked away, consequences be damned.

“Hey, come back here, you low-bred bastard.  I didn't dismiss you. I am still your superior.”

Merlin stepped into the hallway, but Dagonet didn’t let him go.  “You don’t get to walk away from me.”

“I believe I just did.”  He crossed his arms and glared up at the older man.  He’d known from the first time they worked together that he intimidated Dagonet, and wasn’t above using it.  If nothing else, he supposed antagonizing him meant Harry could make a clean getaway.

“Don’t think that I don’t know what Mordred is up to with all of your  _ special training _ .  I--” 

Sure enough, Harry slipped through the doorway behind Dagonet and sauntered off down the hall.  Merlin watched from the corner of his eye as he turned the corner and disappeared,

“-- Are you even listening to me?  How--”

“Is there a problem here?”

If Merlin was terrified before, he was mortified now.  He’d been so busy watching Galahad leave that he didn’t notice Mordred and Percival approach from the other direction.  That was a mistake. If anyone could figure out what happened just by looking at him, it was Mordred. The man missed  _ nothing.   _ There was a frown on Mordred’s face as he took in the sight of his two handlers.  At his shoulder Percival was smiling, though his eyes were bright as he took in the scene. 

Merlin avoided looking directly at either of them.  “No, sir,” he and Dagonet answered in unison.

“I was just congratulating Merlin on his promotion,” Dagonet continued.  For someone that worked with spies, he was horrible at masking his emotions.  Merlin could hear the derision in his tone.

\--And if he could hear it, so could Mordred.

His expression tightened, in that way that meant he was about to say something scathing.  At least the annoyance didn’t appear to be pointed at Merlin. “Very well,” Mordred drawled.  “But, I believe you’re supposed to be on monitor duty for Lancelot. Best get to it.” The words were strangely mild, but the tone was dripping with derision.

Dagonet’s spine straightened as he turned on his heel with a muttered, “Yes, sir.”

Percival shook his head as they all watched him go.  “That’s it. Pub crawl next week, work allowing. Someone needs to get the stick out of that man’s arse.”

Merlin blinked as Mordred reached out and poked Percival atop his bald dome.  “He needs to accept that things change. Being adaptive is part of his job requirements.”  Mordred sighed and turned his focus back to Merlin. “I thought I sent you to get cleaned up.  You haven’t been arguing with him all this time, have you?”

It was Merlin’s turn to shake his head.  “No, sir. I got sidetracked.” It wasn’t a lie, in the most technical sense.  Merlin couldn't deny that he’d gotten very distracted.

For one horrifying moment, Mordred looked like he wanted to say something, but as he drew breath and began to speak, Percival nudged him in the shoulder.  They rolled their eyes at each other in a moment of silent communication that Merlin couldn't even begin to decipher, but in the span of a few seconds Mordred went from annoyed to fondly amused.  “Go on, then,” he said at length. “Get changed before Arthur sees you and has a heart attack. Despite what he says, he’s too young to retire.”

Merlin’s mouth was dry, and his palms sweaty.  For just that second, he was so sure that Mordred was going call Merlin on his appearance, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth either.  If he was being dismissed, he was going to leave. “Yes, sir,” he replied, not having to be told twice.

He gave them a nod in parting, and left, walking the way they’d come.  It was a longer route to his quarters, but, he didn’t want to chance walking with them in the same direction.

“Don’t forget to give your neck a good scrub,” Percival called out behind him, causing Merlin to stumble.  “Looks like you’ve got something on it!”

Merlin’s stomach clenched, as his hand flew up to rub at the back of his neck to the sound of laughter behind him.  When he turned back to look, Mordred and Percival were gone, but the anxiety that Percival’s parting shot remained, and Merlin didn’t think it was going to go away any time soon.

“Bugger.”

 

\---------------

 

Harry’s first day of required leave after a lengthy mission was wonderful.

The second was bearable.

By the third he had an itch that he could put a name to, and knew exactly how to scratch it.

 

\--------------

 

Three days had done nothing to improve Merlin’s disposition.

He was  _ sure _ that Mordred knew  _ everything _ and that it could mean the end of his career at any given moment.  He swore his hair was falling out from the stress.

Merlin could see it every time he caught Mordred looking at him as he oversaw Merlin’s missions-- that knowing gaze, which, admittedly wasn’t different from his normal gazes, as Mordred knew everything.  Christ, it even had Merlin thinking in circles. He was a jumpy wreck, who had just burned himself with his soldering iron for the third time in fifteen minutes. That was it, he wasn’t getting any more work done tonight.

He packed up his tools, and the project he’d been working on to take back to his quarters with him.  Perhaps there, he could relax a little.

Except, every time he closed his eyes he could see they way Harry had looked, pinned to the bathroom wall.  Harry’s eyes had been closed as he came, but Merlin’s, they were wide open, committing every detail to memory.  It didn’t take long then, for lust to override his anxiety. 

If the whole point of cornering Merlin in a bathroom was to get this  _ infatuation _ out of their systems, well, Harry’s plan had failed.  Fucking spectacularly.

Merlin licked his lips as gathered his items in his arms and headed for the elevator.  He’d never been in the habit of lying to himself, and Merlin wasn’t going to start now.  There was just something about Harry that made him crazy in a way he’d never felt before-- and wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again.  It was a stark realization. Harry had made it clear, after all, that the attraction he felt for Merlin, was physical, and now that he’d had his taste, it was over.

That was just typical, and a mixed blessing.  Merlin, would get over a little heartbreak. It might take some time, but he’d have the memory to keep him warm at night,  _ and _ he wouldn’t be putting his job at risk.

Kingsman had a sort of loose policy when it came to homosexuality.  It came from the fine English tradition of ignoring what was going on right under one’s nose.  They sanctioned it as long as it was part of a mission, but otherwise it was frowned upon. To be fair Kingsman agents weren’t  _ supposed _ to have relationships, homosexual, or no.  Merlin had heard the way the handlers spoke of Harry though, on more than one occasion, just because he enjoyed sleeping with men a tad bit more than he did women.

Harry was a Knight.  Reputation aside, he was safe, but Merlin?  He wasn’t near as important.

He swiped his card to open his door, but paused just inside the threshold.  There was something off…

Merlin dropped his tools as he was shoved back against the door.  He brought his arms out to ward off his assailant, but as the figure pressed in, Merlin caught a whiff of his cologne, and went still.  “Jesus Christ, Harry. What kind of game are you playing? How did you even--”

“Shh,” Harry cautioned, though here, in Merlin’s small quarters, there was no one to overhear.  One hand stayed splayed across Merlin’s chest, while the other went to grab his cock through his trousers.  It gave an interested twitch, as Merlin’s eyes went straight to Harry’s lips. “If you thought this was going to be over before I got a proper taste of you, you thought wrong.”

“But--” Merlin began to protest only for Harry to silence him with his lips.  He tasted sweet-- of a flavor Merlin couldn’t quite identify, but wanted more of.  All his inhibitions went out the window as he began to return the kiss, seeking out more.

Harry just had that effect on him.  Made Merlin insane.

At least, here, in his quarters, they weren’t quite so likely to get caught.

“No buts,” Harry whispered against his lips.  Merlin could still taste that sweetness on his breath. “If you don’t want me, tell me no, and I’ll leave.  But if you do..tell me how.”

Merlin’s breath caught.  His gaze moved from Harry’s lips, to his eyes.  He’d never known that brown eyes could be so beautiful.  He wanted to see those eyes looking up at him, as those sinful lips stretched around his cock.  “On your knees. Right here.”

He could see the way the timber of his voice affected Harry.  He gave a full body shudder, his eyes wide as he bit down on the tip of his tongue.  What he didn’t do, was move. Merlin reached down to the hand that was still holding on to his crotch, and gave it a squeeze.  Harry jumped, then smirked as he dropped down to his knees. “Good choice,  _ sir.” _

His tone was damn near sarcastic, but there was nothing Merlin could do to hide the thrill that ran through him at the sound of,  _ sir.   _ Harry’s eyes sparkled, the git knowing full well what he was doing as he thumbed the button on Merlin’s fly then pulled the zipper down  _ with his teeth. _

Christ, Merlin was damn near in love with a fucking  _ tease _ and he couldn’t tell if it was the worst or the best thing to ever happen to him.

It was the best.  There was no question in Merlin’s mind about that after the first touch of Harry’s mouth to his cock.  What they shared in the bathroom was frantic. It was two men pushed to the edge of reason and looking for a little relief.  This was something different. The air was no less charged between them, but the need to rip and tear at each other was absent.  Their gazes locked as Harry’s lips slid down Merlin’s shaft, and Merlin’s hand found its way into Harry’s curls.

The view alone was worth coming for.

“Aye, that’s it,” Merlin encouraged, his thumb brushing against Harry’s cheekbone.  “Take it slow, and take it all, you fucking tart.”

Harry’s lashes fluttered, from the words or Merlin’s motions, he didn’t know, but he kept up both.  Harry slid his sinful lips down Merlin’s cock until his nose was nestled right up against Merlin’s skin. “There you are,” he praised.  “Knew you could take it.”

He lowered a second hand into Harry’s hair and stroked through the locks.  It was the right move. Harry backed off, just a little, and let out a soft sound that vibrated right through Merlin’s cock and caused him to let out a gasp of his own.

Of the two of them, Harry was more skilled in this department, and Merlin didn't mind admitting it.  It was hard to, when he was reaping the benefits of Harry’s experience. Harry bobbed his head with slow purpose, and dragged his tongue against the underside of Merlin’s cock.  Every movement was deliberate, and Merlin rewarded the effort with tugs of Harry’s curls and praise.

It wasn’t until Harry reached up, to curl his hand around the base of Merlin’s shaft, that Merlin tugged him to a stop.  “No,” he ordered, reaching down to uncurl Harry’s fingers. “You use your mouth or nothing at all. Hands behind your back.”  It was a calculated risk. Harry could be petulant, and he liked having his way, but he’d called Merlin  _ sir _ as he sank to his knees.

Harry’s lashes fluttered again.  He dropped his hand away, and clasped it behind his back, as ordered.

“Good lad,” Merlin praised.  It should have been ridiculous.  Harry was his elder by at least three years, but all his words ignited a fire within them both.  “Such a good lad with a perfect mouth for fucking. Use that tongue of yours. Get me off.”

Harry took to the instruction well.  His movements went from teasing, to  _ hungry _ in a matter of seconds, and Merlin went silent.  It was impossible to do anything but  _ breathe _ in the wake of the onslaught against his person.  The tension between then built back into a fervor, the only sounds in the room the click and slurp of Harry’s throat and Merlin’s harsh breathing.

He almost regretted telling Harry to get him off.  Not that he wasn’t enjoying it- oh, far from it. Merlin couldn’t stop the little jerking rolls of his hips, nor the wheezing groans that fell from his lips.  Harry was going to suck his soul out through his cock, and that was beautiful.

No, Merlin regretted it because he  _ wasn’t _ going to last for much longer, and that meant that things between Harry and himself were possibly over, again.  But it had to mean something that Harry had ambushed him here, right?

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.  The muscles in Merlin’s thighs twitched and jumped as he neared his end.  “Oh Christ. C’mon. Show me, y’tart. Show me how much you love havin’ my cock in your mouth.”  Even if Harry obeyed that order, Merlin would have never known. His hands clenched down in Harry’s curls as he rolled his lips, and fucked into the sweet heat that was offered to him.

Harry made a sound that  _ wasn’t _ displeasure at being used that way, and Merlin’s whole body gave a twitch.  He was so close to the edge that he could taste it-- a bitterness alongside the sweetness that he’d stolen from Harry’s mouth.    


“That’s fuckin’ it.  Ah. I’m gonna…” It was all the warning he could give Harry.  Every part of Merlin’s being drew up. He made to pull back, but Harry grabbed a hip with one hand and held Merlin in place.  It was all the permission he needed. He hung on the edge for a breath longer, then all the pent up tension released in a rush.

He couldn’t say how long they stayed there.  The next thing Merlin was aware of, was Harry, looking up at him, smug beyond words, as he slowly drew back and off of Merlin’s cock and gave it a little parting kiss.  He licked his friction reddened lips, and smiled up at Merlin, who could only blink down at him, made dumb by his orgasm.

He pushed up to his feet, and hesitated for a moment before pressing their lips together.  The sweetness was gone. Now, the only thing Merlin could taste was himself. A wave of possessiveness went through him that Merlin swallowed around.  That wouldn’t do.

Harry was still smiling.  He tucked Merlin back into his trousers and gave him a fond little pat before stepping away.  It struck Merlin then, that he was getting ready to leave. “Wait, but what about--”

“I,” Harry interrupted.  He lifted his hand, showing Merlin the come that was spattered across it.  “Got everything that I came for.” They locked gazes again, and Merlin was helpless to watch as Harry brought that hand to his own lips, and casually licked the mess from it.  His cock twitched in his trousers, but Merlin was well and truly spent.

“Christ,” he cursed, and Harry laughed.

“You’re going to get us both struck down for blasphemy if you keep that up,” he teased.

Merlin rolled his eyes.  “If one of us is going to get struck down for sinning, it’s going to be you.”    


He sighed and bent down to pick up his discarded tools and the project he’d dropped. Merlin moved away from the door to put the items on his work table, fully expecting Harry to leave.  Instead, Harry followed him. He took the umbrella from Merlin’s hands and turned it over in his own, poking at the exposed wires in the handle.

“What have you done to it?”

Merlin licked his lips, more nervous now, than he’d been with Harry’s cock in his mouth days before.  “Open it and find out.”

“Bad luck, opening an umbrella inside,” Harry quipped as he did so anyway.  His eyes widened as the UI flickered to life. He turned about, pointing it at various items, until finally lifting the dome up between himself and Merlin.  “Oh, that’s brilliant Merlin,” he praised as he looked at the image shown on the screen.

Merlin shrugged.  “You said it could be used as a shield, and I thought that it could be better.”

“Simple as that,” Harry marveled as he spun with it again, to see then snapped it closed, to see if could find the camera.

“Simple as that,” Merlin echoed.  That fluttery feeling he was electing to ignore was back as he watched Harry try out the tech.  Oh, he was wrong about his infatuation with Harry being the best thing ever. This was horrible.

“When will it be ready for the field?”  Harry asked as he seemed to tire of swinging it about, and handed the umbrella back to Merlin.

Merlin shrugged again.  “When it’s ready. You’re the first person to see it.”  He paused, then grumbled, “You weren’t meant to see it. Well, I  _ meant _ to give it to you two weeks ago, a version of it, but now I’ve gone and opened it back up.  It’ll be ready again soon. Just a few tweaks.” He was aware that he was beginning to ramble, but couldn’t seem to put a stop to it.

“I’m not sorry in the slightest,” Harry laughed, then sobered.  “Not about any of it. But really this time, it can’t happen again.  If Arthur found out…”

It helped that he at least looked contrite about that.  Merlin closed his eyes against the anxiety and disappointment.  Harry might have wanted a second taste, but that’s all it was. Another taste.  “Right,” Merlin agreed, forcing himself to open his eyes again and smile. “Got it well and good out of our systems down.”

If Harry noticed the sudden tightness to Merlin’s countenance, he didn’t comment on it.  Instead, he looked relieved as he headed towards the door. “Goodnight, Merlin. Thank you.”

At least it wasn’t a true fuck and run, Merlin supposed.  He leaned back against the door after Harry slipped out of it, and engaged the lock.  He still didn’t know how Harry had gotten into his quarters to begin with, he was going to have to fix that.  Or perhaps he wouldn’t. Let Harry have his way in and---

No.  Harry was right.  Merlin remembered the anxiety of the past three days.  If he worried so about a one night stand, attempting to hide a  _ relationship _ from their superiors was going to be hell.  It couldn’t happen three days ago, and it couldn’t happen now.

Merlin had a job that he loved.  That was going to be enough.

It had to be enough.

He got back to work.  The  _ Rainmaker _ wasn’t going to make itself, and distraction was the name of the game.

 

\---------

 

Harry took two more short missions, close to home before Merlin cornered him in the shooting range and presented him with the prototype rainmaker.  It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, that weighed perfectly in Harry’s hands despite the additions, and Harry could scarcely believe that it was a mere prototype and not the final product, it was so perfect.

“How does the camera work?”  He looked all over the dome, trying to find the source of the video feed on the inner dome, with no luck.

“Magic,” Merlin deadpanned at him with a smirk, and waggled his fingers.

Harry took one look at those fingers, and the smug look on Merlin’s face before he pinned Merlin to the nearest surface and pressed their lips together, right there on the gun range, under the cover of the  _ brilliant _ umbrella Merlin gifted him.

They made out sloppily for what felt like hours, but never went any further than that.  It was a new experience for Harry, and he assumed for Merlin as well, considering the startled look he gave Harry when they broke apart for air.  He could  _ feel _ Merlin’s cock, throbbing in his trousers where they were so close together, but when he reached down to release them, Merlin put a stop to it.

“We said we weren’t doing this anymore.”  He sounded about as enthusiastic about that as Harry felt, but the man had a point.

Harry straightened and put a little space between them.  “Right. Forgive me,” he apologized as he began to put his clothing to rights, and will himself to calm down.  “Just that look on your face. I couldn’t help myself.”

One of Merlin’s eyebrows arched into his  _ you’re full of shit _ expression.  Harry was becoming familiar enough with that one to recognize it on sight. He met it head on by dropping his chin and batting his lashes up at Merlin with his own  _ nothing to see here _ .

Merlin scoffed at him and rolled his eyes.  Harry took it as a victory. He turned and gathered up the weapons he’d been practicing with before Merlin’s interruption, under the handler’s watchful gaze. Merlin seemed to want to say something, but was having trouble getting it out, so, Harry pointedly ignored him, and let him work through the issue.

He was almost ready to leave, when Merlin finally put words to his thoughts.  “I’ve an hour before I’m due in Central. Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Harry blinked and turned from where he was stowing the last of the stock guns in its proper compartment.  Merlin’s face was impassive, as if he didn’t care one way or another if Harry joined him or not. That clearly, couldn’t be the case, or Merlin wouldn’t have waffled about asking him for so long.

But did Harry want to join him?  He’d gotten what he wanted from Merlin.  They hadn’t even fucked proper, and Harry was more relaxed than he’d been since he’d laid eyes on the Scot.  Despite his little slip up over the umbrella, he  _ could _ go the rest of his life without seeing Merlin in anything other than a professional capacity.

Couldn’t he?

For some reason, the thought of it seemed unappealing.

Merlin took his continued silence as a dismissal.  “Ah. Forget I said anything.” He turned to leave, and the movement startled Harry into action.

“No!”  Harry barked, as his spine straightened.  He didn’t blush, as Merlin’s head whipped around at the sharp order, but it was a near thing.  “I’m sorry. I got caught up in my head for a moment. Lunch sounds delightful.”

The tension in Merlin’s shoulders began to relax, and the corner of his lips turned up just a little.  “I wasn’t planning anything fancy,” he cautioned. “Just a quick meal up at the cafeteria.”

“That’s fine.  I just need to stop by my quarters and freshen up a little.  Order me a serving of the shepherd’s pie, and I’ll meet you there?”

Merlin rocked back on his heels and nodded.  “Don’t think I won’t eat your share if you take too long.”

It was Harry’s turn to scoff as he followed Merlin out into the hallway.  “Insolent. I’m reporting you to Mordred. You’re supposed to have more respect for Knights.”

“Go right ahead,” Merlin returned, unconcerned. “Mordred will laugh at you too.”

“You’re not laughing.”

“I am on the inside.”

They parted ways at the elevator, and it was there that Harry decided what he already knew.  Merlin, despite his standoffish nature  _ was _ good company, and even without the sexual undercurrent, Harry had enjoyed his time with the other man. 

He  _ wouldn’t _ call them friends.  Harry just didn’t  _ do _ friends.  He did colleagues and acquaintances, and that was all he needed.  Anything else, would just get in the way. Let someone too close, and you end up with the sort of relationship he now shared with Lancelot.  Harry didn’t want that to happen with Merlin, but, at the same time, he didn’t want to stop himself from spending time with the man.

It was  _ nice,  _ having someone that he actually looked  _ forward _ to seeing.

 

\--------------------

 

Merlin cursed himself all the way up to the cafeteria.   _ Do you want to have lunch with me?  How much more obvious can you fuckin’ be?  You’re supposed to be cutting the cord so this crush doesn’t get any worse, not making fuckin’ moony eyes at him across the table. _

Despite what he was supposed to be doing, the words spilled out anyway, and Merlin was going to have to resign himself to a meal spent trying not to make a fool out of himself.  He’d enjoy it while it lasted, because, sooner or later, Harry  _ was _ going to put his foot down-- once he stopped being so oblivious to the fact that Merlin’s attraction to him went beyond something that could be worked out by a couple of hasty blowies.

He ordered them both servings of the shepard’s pie, and chose a table near the door.  It was still a bit early for the lunch rush, but there were still other people milling around.  Like Central, the cafeteria was never empty, as employees of the various departments took their meals when they could, rather than on a set schedule.

Merlin drummed his fingers against the table as he waited for Harry, and as the minutes stretched on, began to wonder if the agent was even coming.  No, Harry, for all his faults, was too polite for that. If he said he was coming, then he was, even if he was a bit late, but Merlin only had so long left before he had to report to duty.

He started to eat.  Harry would just have to forgive him that little breach in etiquette.

“At least you haven’t started in on my plate too,” the man in quested drawled as he slid into the space across from Merlin.  He’d cleaned up since they parted ways. The suit was the same, but his hair was back into its perfect coif, just begging for Merlin to curl his fingers in and muse all over again.

“It was a near thing,” Merlin drawled in return as he turned his attention back towards his plate.  The last thing he wanted to do was get caught staring.

Then, Harry let a sound out that was damn near pornographic, that had Merlin’s eyes flying back upwards.  Harry, had a mouthful of food, and didn’t even seem to be gunning for a reaction. His eyes were closed, and head tilted back in pure satisfaction as he thoroughly enjoyed his food.

Merlin watched, dumbfounded, as Harry swallowed, then opened his eyes.  Their gazes met, and Harry seemed almost embarrassed, as it was his turn to drop his gaze towards his plate.  “Of all the food available to me, I believe this is my favorite,” he explained. “There’s just something comforting about it.”

It was a little surprising.  Shepherd’s pie seemed like such a plain food for Harry, who had clearly come from a family that was well to do, to pick as his favorite.  “Funny,” he drawled in return. “I had you pegged for loving some French cuisine. Something I couldn’t hope to pronounce let alone know what was made of.”

Harry drew up straighter in his seat.  “All food has its time and place. There’s a little French bistro not far from the shop that I’ll treat you to when we both have more time for an outing.  However, for a quick lunch with a--” Harry paused with a quick intake of breath and seemed to correct himself. “A quick lunch at  _ headquarters _ ,” he repeated.  “You simply cannot to better than Miss Martha’s shepherd's pie.”

Merlin didn’t get long to puzzle over Harry’s stumble, and what he might have been about to stay before stopping himself.  Before he could open his mouth to reply, Gawain slid into one of the free spots at the table. “Pardon my intrusion,” he began with a sly smile that had Merlin sitting up straighter as well.  “It’s been  _ so long _ since I’ve had the chance to catch up with my favorite  _ poof _ .”

It was as if Merlin wasn’t even there.  Gawain went so far to lean into the table as he turned to address Harry, blocking their view of each other.  Merlin tensed, and ate another bite of his lunch.

“Not long enough, it seems,” Harry drawled in return, his tone dropping to icy temperatures. “I was just enjoying lunch with Merlin, here.  I’m afraid we’ll have to catch up later. Perhaps during the weekly pub crawl?”

Gawain continued on as if he hadn’t even spoken.  “Lancelot told us how he found you, you know. Told anyone who would listen,  _ including _ Arthur.  Tsk tsk, baby agent.  It’s one thing, you know, to take it up the arse in the line of duty.   _ We’ve all done that a time or two _ but to go out like some common fagg--”

“That’s enough,” Merlin growled as he put his fork down with enough force it clanged against the plate.  He could see Harry, face carefully impassive, jump at the noise and the growled words.

Gawain was slower to turn his attention away from his  _ prey,  _ but he leaned back in his chair so he could see them both.  “Ah, Mordred’s pet. I didn’t see you there.” His tone said it all.  Merlin, while still growing, was far from a small man, and impossible to miss, but Gawain found the Scot so far beneath him, that his presence didn’t even matter.

The casual dismissal was a sensation that Merlin was used to.  “Aye, I’m sure you didn’t,” he drawled, letting his accent take on it’s thicker, more natural tones with purpose.  “Too self-absorbed to see a thing past your own nose,  _ and, _ my name is  _ Merlin. _  I’m my own man, as Galahad is his, and you, well, I’m not sure what you are.”

Gawain didn’t like that.  He drew up, and leaned forward into Merlin’s space, the faux-friendliness fading from his expression.  “Now, you listen here,  _ son.” _

Merlin leaned forward right into Gawain’s as well.  He wasn’t backing down, and he wasn’t letting Gawain get away with his words.  “I’m going to stop you there,  _ sir. _  I’m not your son.  Is your memory as blighted as your sight?  I would see Nimue about that before you go back into the field.  Seems to me that such  _ defects _ could be a liability.  As I just informed you,  _ my name is Merlin. _ ”

“Fine, Merlin,” Gawain bit out. “I hear that you’re newly promoted.   _ Congratulations _ .  I’m sure that somewhere in that  _ support staff _ handbook of yours, it’s mentioned that Knights are to be respected.  I wonder how Mordred would react, knowing that his new star is failing so spectacularly at rule number one.”

“Go ahead and tell him,” Merlin shrugged, uncaring.  “Gossiping seems to be all that you’re good for. Besides, it’s Rule 47, followed by Rule 48: Take no shite.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Harry hissed, putting himself back into the conversation.  “Gawain. Go away. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Not that you were welcome to begin with,” Merlin added.

Gawain looked between the two of them, the triumphant look that he’d sat down with, long gone.  “Fine. But don’t think I’m not going to Mordred about your insubordination.” 

Far as parting shots went, it was a weak one, and Merlin rolled his eyes as Gawain pushed away from the table and stalked away.  Merlin was left with cooling shepherd's pie, about five minutes to eat it in, and a pensive looking Harry.

Merlin took a bite, as he raised a brow at Harry. “Well?  Whatever it is you’re thinking, go on ahead and say it.”

Harry frowned at him.  “You didn't have to do that.  I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, well.  You weren’t. What was it you told me?  You don't take any of my shite, so don't take theirs?” 

“And you didn’t have to be so..gruff about it.  He was only teasing me.”

Merlin leveled an unimpressed look at Harry around his next bite of food.  He finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “That wasn’t teasing. That was bullying, and not the first time I’ve heard him speaking about you that way.  He tried to warn me off you, you know. Called you a shirt-lifter, and insinuated that you were getting your jollies touching me, whether I wanted it or not.”

Harry’s frown deepened, his whole expression going thunderous.  Merlin expected another angry conversation with Gawain was in the near future. “I’d never.”

“No,” Merlin agreed.  “You wouldn’t. You’re an outrageous fuckin’ flirt, but you’ve got too much honor for the rest.”  He stood, then and picked up his mostly empty plate to return to the line. He was out of time. “And before you get it into your head,” he continued, much quieter, even going so far as to bend down to Harry and whisper.  “You’ve never touched me in a way that I didn’t enthusiastically want, or consent to.”

Harry huffed out a soft laugh.  “Of course I didn’t. Have you looked at me?  It’s impossible not to want me. But Merlin, if he goes to Mordred.”

In all seriousness, if Gawain  _ did _ go to Mordred, Merlin wasn’t expecting anything worse than a slap on the wrist.  “I’ll cross that bridge if it comes to it. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Merlin left to go put his tray in the cleaning line, then chanced one last look back at Harry before he left.  He was still sitting right where Merlin left him, looking at Merlin without seeming to see him, with a thoughtful expression on his face.  That might have been worrying, but Merlin could see it, even only with his quick glance-- the beginnings of a smile.

  
  
  


Sure enough, Mordred was waiting next to Merlin’s console when he arrived.  “You’ve just missed Gawain, I’m afraid. To hear him talk you disrespected him in front of the  _ entire _ cafeteria crowd.”

Merlin smirked, catching the humor in Mordred’s tone.  “Well, not the  _ entire _ cafeteria.”

Mordred’s own smile grew as he reached out to give Merlin a squeeze on the shoulder.  “Good job, son. Now get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was worth the wait! Something tells me that their agreement that everything is over and done with doesn't quite hold water. Hm.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm so excited as we move into the final chapters of the fic. Only two more and the epilogue to go!
> 
> I can be found at [fvckingspectacvlar](http://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com) where the Merlahad queue is still rolling. Feel free to give me a poke.
> 
> Next Chapter: Kingsman are closing in on Roman Dubois, and Harry has a New Years Eve he'll never forget.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's luck with Merlin might have changed, but his luck on missions continues to be abysmal. Luckily, he has a bit of backup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings in the rest of the major tags:
> 
> Explicit  
> M/F  
> Pegging  
> Bad Sex  
> Voyeurism  
> Exhibitionism
> 
> *For those that might need a quick explanation of the tags, I've added a little spoilery little summary of the scene in question in the end notes! Happy reading.

###  Chapter Seven

 

The problem was; it kept happening.

Harry stopped an assassination in Rome.  He came home and pinned Merlin against his desk and thrust against him until they both came in their trousers.

They caught a lead on Dubois back in Mombasa again; they spent half the trip home rutting against every surface of the jet  _ but _ the beds.

On Halloween, Harry returned from a honeypot a ring of bruises around his neck, and Merlin pinned him to the wall and fucked between his thighs until they both made a mess.

There were rules to every engagement.  By silent agreement, they avoided beds, and each time it happened, they agreed that was it.  They were done, but then Harry would take another mission, and it happened again. Otherwise, they never spoke of whatever was going on between the two of them.

 

**December 31, 1981  - London, England**

 

Harry sipped at his flute of champagne and adjusted his glasses for what might have been the thousandth time that devening.

“Stop fidgeting with them,” Merlin ordered over the coms.  “You’re making the picture go all wonky.”

“Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but couldn’t you have made them any smaller?  These frames feel enormous.” 

He smiled as Merlin scoffed.  “I’d like to see you do the wiring those little beauties required.”

“Well, I’m not the one with magic fingers,” Harry quipped in return before draining his glass.  He put the empty on a passing waitress’ tray, then snagged another. It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and Harry was at the private party of one Roman Dubois.

The man in question, was just across the room, and it took everything in Harry not to just pull his sidearm and end the criminal’s existence right then and there.  Killing Dubois wouldn’t bring down his empire, however. Someone would just rise up to fill the power void. There were several people standing in the room with him that would be eager to do so, Mwangi included.  He was standing at Dubois’ shoulder, severe in a bespoke suit so perfect that Harry wasn’t sure he hadn’t made it himself. They were smiling and laughing, and knowing what Harry did about them, the sight of it made it very hard for Harry to keep the smile on his face.

“Easy, Galahad.”  The soft rumble of Merlin’s voice was like a soothing line.  “I know it would be easy, but you’re not there for them. You’re there for the Matron.”

Right.  The Matron, Sarah Keller.  She was just as bad as the rest.  The head of Dubois’ little smuggling ring, after Rollings was taken out of the picture.  They were moving antiquities out of the middle east, using refugee children to get the items across the border.  Most made it through, but the ones that got caught? They went through hell in the customs system, and were eventually shipped back to the worn torn countries they came from--no matter where the rest of their family might be.

To Dubois and Keller, one child caught out of the fifty sent was an acceptable loss.  It was despicable.

Across the room, Harry could just see the top of Bors’ head, and if he looked harder, he would find Percival somewhere in the crowd as well.  Meanwhile, Lancelot was waiting in Baghdad for his signal. Four separate agents, and an army of support staff all had their parts to play for one common goal: take out the smuggling operation.

Harry’s portion of the play was simple enough.  Get The Matron out of the way while the others did what they needed to to take the organization down.  He was almost insulted that his part was so small, but he couldn’t in good conscience complain when there were children involved.

“Keller’s in your line of sight.”  Merlin’s voice snapped Harry to attention.  He was right. In the left corner of Harry’s vision was the woman in question, dressed to the nines in a short, golden, beaded dress with a white fur shrug.  She was pretty, around twenty years older than Harry, completely unrepentant that she made her fortune exploiting children from worn-torn countries, and Harry was going to have to sleep with her. 

“I see her,” Harry confirmed as he took another drink of his champagne.  “Starting my approach. Clock starts now.”

“Affirmed.”    


Merlin’s voice in his ear was a comfort, one that Harry had grown used to over the past few months.  He’d been fine before, working with the other handlers, but the two of them; they meshed, even discounting their dalliances.  Merlin noticed things the others missed. He always had an answer, and a way out.

The sound of his voice could make Harry drop to his knees and beg for the man’s cock in less than twenty seconds.

He closed the distance between himself and Keller, passing behind to bump into her with his shoulder, hard enough to make her drop her clutch and upset Harry’s drink.  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he exclaimed, hurriedly passing off his glass to a bystander. He bent down and retrieved the clutch and offered a handkerchief to dab at the mess he made.

Contact initiated.

 

**\---------------**

 

Central was in a state of organized chaos.

While all of the Kingsman operatives tended to stay busy, it was rare for four of them to be active in the same operation.  Bors, Galahad, Lancelot, and Percival were all working towards the same end, though each of them had very different goals, and therefore different needs.  To make matters even better, each of the four were ignorant about what the others were doing.

Kingsman had a leak, after all, and while he hadn’t reared his ugly head in  _ months _ , Arthur wasn’t taking any chances. 

He was in Central overseeing the operation personally.

It made Merlin nervous to have him looming, just out of sight, though he was doing his best to ignore it.  With four monitors crammed onto his desk, it should have been easy enough. The first screen was Harry’s feed.  Merlin had passed off the prototype glasses to his favorite agent as he was on his way out the door. Anything Harry could see, Merlin could see as long as he had them on.  It provided far better coverage than a button camera, and with their new, improved range, it wasn’t necessary to try and hide a van near the premises to create a connection.

If they did well tonight, they would hopefully become a part of the agent’s standard uniform.  They were already useful in finding Harry’s mark for the evening.

Merlin kept half an ear to the conversation Harry was striking up with Keller.  Her outrage over the spilled champagne faded quickly in the face of the  _ interested,  _ and interesting young man, it seemed.

There was no worry that Harry would succeed at his objective.  He could charm his way into the Pope’s drawers. He’d charmed his way into Merlin’s after all.

Merlin pushed that thought away.  They were working. There was no room for emotion-- particularly not the sort that risked him getting jealous.  It was better just not to go there at all.

_ Harry was standing awfully close to Keller. _

Galahad. Galahad was doing his job.

Merlin was treated to the sight of her earrings as Galahad leaned forward to whisper a lewd suggestion, that had both Merlin  _ and _ Keller blushing, in her ear.  Keller laughed, and hit him with her clutch, but tilted her head upwards, and craned her head to look at Galahad through lowered lashes.  Merlin could see the goosebumps rise on her skin where Galahad’s breath warmed it. “My, you are forward,” she purred, thinking herself the seductress, though she was the one being hunted. “I like that, pretty boy. I have a room, if you would like to live up to your promises.”

Harry murmured his assent, and the feed pulled back, as he slid to her side, to lead her back out of the room.  The image went fuzzy as they stepped out into the night, then into a waiting taxi. That was annoying. Merlin would have to work on the night vision capabilities of the glasses; the agents wouldn’t always be in well lit rooms, after all.

A commotion from across the room drew Merlin’s attention from Harry’s feed.

Arthur and Mordred were crowded around the main station, shoulder to shoulder, with deep frowns on their faces.  “Percival. Bors has lost visual. I need you to report.” Even Mordred’s voice was tight as he frowned at the monitors.  “Percival. I repeat. I need to hear your voice.”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and turned to Dagonet, who was handling Bors.  “Anything?”

Dagonet shook his head.  “No, sir. Bors reports he had visual on Percival as he was approaching the balcony, but lost him.  Mwangi and Dubois have disappeared as well. Instructions?”

Arthur’s eyes darted between the various stations as Mordred continued to attempt to make contact with his agent.  “Standby,” he said at length. “Bors is not to endanger his cover. Tell him to continue as planned, until he’s told otherwise.  What’s Galahad’s status?”

Merlin glanced back at the monitor, to confirm that Harry was still where he left him, and hadn’t disappeared into thin air like Percival.  “En route to the secondary location. Keller is in his,” he paused, trying to find the best way to word it. “Custody.”

“Good.  Keep him on target.  Extraction team A move into place,” Arthur instructed before turning to address the room at large.  His expression was just as tight as Mordred’s but his voice was steady as he issued his orders. “We need to get a lock on Percival’s location, and be ready to pull him out if needed.  I know that we’re all worried about losing one of our own, but this mission is too important to abandon. We are on the edge of taking down an Empire. Keep your heads in the game.”

“Lancelot, Bors.  Remain on standby and be ready to move on my mark.”

  
  
  
  


\----------

 

Harry tumbled into the bed with Keller.  She laughed brightly and arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest.  He leaned closer, in turn, and trailed a line of kisses along her collarbone.

“Oh, you wicked little thing,” she gasped as his hand pushed up her thigh, dragging her dress right along with it.  His fingers trailed closer, ghosting over her underwear, when she hooked a leg around him, then flipped them over. Harry landed on his back with a soft  _ oof,  _ as she straddled his lap.  “Pretty boys don’t get to be on top.  Pretty boys know their place.”

Harry was not one to be daunted by a dominant woman.  In most cases, he rather enjoyed sitting back and being taken for a ride, but something in the way she rolled her hips against him made Harry the slightest bit uneasy.

She caged him in with a hand on either side of his head and pressed their lips together in a rough biting kiss.  It lacked the finesse of Merlin’s kisses that while rough, never failed to elicit a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“Ah, yes,” he whimpered, taking care to sound suitable aroused.  “Please.”

Those seemed to be the words she wanted to hear.  “Mistress. Call me mistress.” Sarah meant to sound demanding he was sure, but she only managed to come off as needy.    


Harry heaved a mental sigh, his hopes for at least getting decent sex out of the evening going down the drain.  “Yes, Mistress,” he obliged and rolled his own hips against hers.

“Such a good, pretty boy,” Sarah keened.  “You’re going to look so pretty on my cock.”

Harry blinked.  There had been nothing in their intel to suggest…

Sarah laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek before rolling off the bed.  Her dress pooled on the ground as she sashayed to the open case on the luggage stand.  “Oh darling, did you think that I would just let you fuck me? That has to be earned.”

There was no hiding a cock in the scrap of fabric that Sarah seemed to consider underwear, though that would have been far preferable to what Harry had the strange idea was about to happen.

When she held up the impossibly large rubber dong, complete with leather strapping, his stomach sank.

“Shite, look at the thing.”  A voice not Sarah’s or his own made Harry jump.  It was lucky that Sarah took it as a reaction to her reveal.  “That’s fuckin’ massive. She must be off her nut if she thinks she’s putting that inside you.”

Harry turned Merlin’s voice out as Sarah climbed back on the bed.  He’d forgotten the handler was still listening-- was still seeing what Harry saw through the lenses Harry hadn’t thought to take off.  Merlin’s presence made it a little better somehow. At least Harry wouldn’t be going through this without moral support.

The dildo was dropped beside him as Sarah began to toy with the clasps on his trousers.  “You can say no,” she told him, as her fingers moved up to his shirt buttons next. “You can get your jacket and you can leave.”  Part of Harry wanted to, but their entire plan hinged on Ms. Keller being too busy to realize what was going on. They needed her cut off, and they needed her in place to be arrested when the time came.  “Or, you can stay, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

Harry somehow doubted that.  It wasn’t that he  _ wasn’t _ the adventurous sort.  He’d try just about anything,  _ within reason _ , once, but it was Sarah’s demeanor that was sending off warning signals. He’d slept with her type before; the kind that didn’t really care about the person beneath them beyond the fact they were being put in their place.

If she even cared enough at all to get him off, Harry would be lucky.

There was something almost comforting about it though.  The wrapping might be a bit different, but Harry knew this dance like the back of his hand.  He fluttered his lashes, and looked up at her through them, coy. “Please Mistress, fuck me.”

Merlin groaned in his ear, but Sarah was delighted at the news as she tore Harry’s pants and trousers down in one clean tug.  She pushed his thighs apart and ran a nail lightly down the length of his cock, cooing as Harry squirmed. “So hard for me, darling.  I knew when I saw you that you’d be perfect for what I had in mind tonight. You repressed British boys. You’ve all got that look about you.”

She sat back on her heels and reached for the dong.  “Up on your knees now, love. Gonna make you feel so nice.”   
  


 

It did not feel nice.  Sarah had seemed confident enough as she strapped herself up, but now that Harry was on the receiving end of the worst fuck of his life, he was having doubts.  It was a bit too much of everything. Too big, too dry, and too hard. Each thrust sent sparks down his spine, and not in the good way. 

She wouldn’t even let him touch himself.  Harry was starting to have issues selling the con.

“Ah, please,” Harry whined and knew he was in trouble when it came out less like a plea for more and more like begging for it all to be over.

Then, there was Merlin.  “You’ve been staring at the headboard for over twenty minutes.   What does she have to prove?” He sounded just as bored of it all as Harry was, and perhaps a bit worried.  “We’ve had a bit of a situation here. You’re going to have to hold on longer than expected.”

Well, Harry supposed, a  _ situation _ might be the cause of the worry.  He could hold on. There was absolutely no fear of her breaking his pelvis.  None at all.

He covered a wince as the hard rubber dong gave him a shove that wasn’t pleasant.  “Please,” he whimpered again. Perhaps she would take pity if she thought Harry was getting close.  He tried to reach down and take his soft cock in hand again.

Sarah swatted him across the back.  “You come on my cock or not at all, and I’m not stopping until you do.”

It was torture.  She had to know she was hurting him, but no, she doubled her efforts, almost sending Harry head first into the headboard.  He reached up to curl his fingers around the top, to steady himself. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d gone soft. 

“Full of yourself, aren’t ya,  _ mistress,” _ Merlin grumbled, his voice more severe than his words.  He was holding back, though Harry wasn’t sure for who. “Don’t know the first thing about fucking a man. I can tell the angle’s all wrong and I cannae even see it.  When you get back, I’ll take y’proper.”

Oh.  Now that was a mental image that had Harry’s interested.  His eyes remained trained on the headboard, but Harry’s sight was turned inward, at the thought of Merlin having him this way; of him pinning Harry down with a heavy hand in the middle of his back.  Of Merlin taking him properly, as he just suggested, no more of the skittish frottage they’d been indulging in, just a good, rough fuck.

Even now, despite everything, his cock gave an interested twitch at the sound of Merlin speaking low in his ear, promising Harry the fuck of his life.  He flushed, and dropped his head at the thought of those perfect hands on him once more, that thick cock inside of him for the first time.

Harry’s next moan was more genuine.  “More.”

 

\------------------

 

Merlin was intimately familiar with the way Harry sounded during sex.  Their  _ last times _ had been going on for months, and Merlin was sure that he knew every breathy sigh, moan and whimper.  THe sounds Harry was making now, however, were new. They were the sounds of someone that was not enjoying himself, someone that was going to blow his mission if he wasn’t careful.  Still, Harry hadn’t called for an extraction, the stubborn arse. If things went on much longer and Harry didn’t even manage to fake an orgasm, then they were going to be in trouble.

He wanted to ask Mordred what to do, but the other handlers had their own, just as big problems to worry about.  Bigger, if Merlin was being honest. 

In the midst of carrying out his portion of the mission, Percival disappeared.

One moment he was slipping trackers into coat pockets, and the next he was gone.  Neither Bors, or the extraction team could make visual, but his vitals were still active, and his own tracker showed him as still being within the venue.

Everyone was worried, but doing their best to stay on task.  Merlin made the choice, to not inform Harry, beyond the fact that there  _ was _ a situation.   _ His _ agent didn’t need the added strain right now.  Merlin knew that he was being ridiculous about it.  Harry was a professional, and wouldn’t allow whatever he felt about Percival to get in the way of completing his mission, but he looked at it this way.  There was nothing that Harry could do to help them find Percival, and letting him know would just be added stress.

It was more important for Harry to put all of his effort into keeping Keller out of the way, and in one place.

Merlin, however, was suffering for the decision and preoccupied, as he kept half an ear on Harry, and the other trying to listen to where Mordred was spearheading the search.  The line about fucking Harry had just slipped out. He didn’t mean to say it, at least not aloud, but there it was.

He could hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath, and then that very real moan, followed by a demand.  “More.”

It pained Merlin to hear Harry so out of sorts, and that gasp was like a sip of water in the desert.  It was wildly inappropriate, but one of Mordred’s first lessons to Merlin, on how to run a mission, was if he saw a way that he could make life easier on his agent, he should take it.  Even with that in mind, Merlin was hesitant. 

He licked his lips and cast glances over his shoulders before he reached up to turn the recorder off.

“Liked the thought of that, did you Galahad?” Merlin slumped in his seat as he spoke, his eyes glued to the footage from Harry’s glasses.  “To be honest, I think I’d make you wait first. Feed you my cock while you kneeled under my desk. Let you keep it warm for me while I write my report.   _ Galahad performed admirably, taking a rubber cock the size of my fist in the line of duty.  Should his career as a Kingsman agent not work out, he has a future in pornography. _ ”

The sound that came out of Harry’s throat this time was downright filthy.  Merlin smiled, and kept both hands on his desk, lest he forget where he was and give into the temptation to give himself a little rub.

The feed, thankfully, didn’t reveal much.  Harry was still faced towards the headboard on his hands and knees, though the image shook with every thrust from Keller.  The sounds, though, coming through Harry’s coms, were slowly becoming what Merlin was more used to hearing from the man. Good.

“Then,” he began after a short pause.  Dagonet passed behind his desk, but didn’t stop to see what Merlin was doing.  “Once I’m good and ready, I’ll bend you over that same desk, and make you read that report back to me--every word of it-- as I fuck you.  Nice and slow.”

“Yes,” Harry called out in return.  “Oh yes. I’m almost there. Keep going.”

Before the start of the mission, Merlin had worried that he would be jealous, sending Harry off to another lover, but, as he drummed his fingers against the desk, the only thing he felt was smug.  Harry might be sleeping with someone else, but it was Merlin’s cock that he was begging for.

“Bet I’ll slide right in to that hole of yours.  If that abomination of her’s isn’t good for anything else, I bet it’s got your hole all puffy and used.  You’ll thank me for not just fucking right in, and taking you like I should. You’ll thank me for the chance to keep my cock warm.  I’d bet you’re so open that once I’m inside you, I’ll be able to slide my thumb in too. Would you like that? Me holding you open as I fucked you?”

Harry was getting close.  Merlin knew what that particular whine meant, and could only imagine him, fucking himself back against the unforgiving rubber, hurting himself but too desperate for release to care.  If he did end up fucking Harry, he was going to have to be careful. Harry’s breathy whines increased in pitch the harder he tried and failed to get himself there.

“Listen to me, Galahad,” Merlin ordered as he leaned forward, elbows on the desk.  This was between him, and Harry. “And you listen well. I don’t care about what she’s told you.  You answer to me and only me. Nod your head if you understand.”

The image bobbled rapidly as Harry nodded.

“Good lad,” Merlin praised.  “On the count of three, you are going to reach down and give your cock a squeeze.  You know the way, and then, you are going to come for me. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, please,” Harry cried as the imaged bobbled again.  “Take me harder! I’m going to come!”

Jesus wept.  They were going to have to work on his dirty talk.  He sounded straight out of a bad porno.

Keller seemed to enjoy the contrived dialog, however.  She cooed something, undoubtedly just as horrible about how pretty of a boy Harry was.  Merlin ignored her in favor of beginning the countdown. “One.”

Harry gasped, as the video snapped upwards.  Merlin could see his hand, clenching hard enough on the headboard that his fingers were going white.

“Two.”

Harry babbled over the line, words spilling out in a mix of genuine need and laying it on thick for Keller.

“Three.”

Keller laughed as Harry groaned, and the video went dark as he collapsed down against the pillows.  Merlin licked his lips as he blinked at the dark screen and wished he could find a similar release. He shifted a little closer to the desk, flushed, and attempting to hide his obvious arousal from his co-workers.  Eyes open, stay still, and breathed.

Fuck.  Just,  _ fuck. _

He brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead and tried to get himself under control.  Merlin was sitting in a room surrounded by some of the most observant men in existence, he couldn’t afford to slip up.  There was no way none of them had noticed. 

Harry groaned, and the feed came back to life as he rolled over onto his back.  Merlin found himself staring at the ceiling, until Keller leaned into view.

“You touched yourself,” she accused, as she reached out to touch Harry, somewhere along his jaw, if Merlin had to wager.  “Bad boy. I should punish you for that, but you were so pretty as you took my cock, and I’ve been waiting long enough. Make me scream, darling.”

That could have meant anything, but Keller kept Harry flat on his back as she shimmied up his body, to straddle his face.  Merlin’s eyes went wide, for a moment, before he reached up and turned the monitor off. It hadn’t been so bad, when the feed showed nothing but Harry staring at the headboard, but Merlin needed to draw the line somewhere, to maintain professionalism if nothing else.

“You are a good boy,” he growled into the coms.  He was able to turn off the video, but because of what happened on that mission months ago, he’d have to continue listening-- for Harry’s safety.  “But when you get back, we’re going to have a conversation about when it’s appropriate to take your glasses off.”

He could hear Harry snort, almost drowned out by the sound of Keller’s moans, and shook his head.  “Cheeky. I’m still on the line, but I need to check in with the rest. Yell if you need me.”

Harry hummed in assent and Merlin sucked in a deep breath as he prepared to push away from his desk.  Seeing Keller, and getting the reminder of what they were doing, and why they were doing it, had gone a long way to calming Merlin down, but it still took another bit before he felt confident enough to stand.

Of course, that’s when Dagonet stepped around him with an armful of files.  “What’s wrong, listening to loverboy make another conquest getting to you? Not so easy as you thought, listening in on honeypots, is it?”  He dropped the files on Mordred’s desk, then started towards Merlin again. “I bet Galahad’s getting off on it, knowing that you’re listening.”

Merlin fought to remain impassive.  The loverboy comment didn’t mean anything.  The handlers called Harry that all the time, but he knew exactly how much Harry was getting off on his presence on the line.    


He changed the subject.  “Have they found Percival?”

Dagonet sobered.  He might be an arse, but he cared for the agents just as much as anyone in operations.  No one liked it when an agent went off the grid. They both watched Mordred flip through the files as they talked.  “They did,” Dagonet replied with a sigh. “Mordred’s leading Bors through the extraction now. I don’t know how it happened, but Dubois made him.”

Shite.  That meant Percival  _ and  _ Bors were burned for any other work with the case, perhaps Harry as well, maybe even all of them, depending on what Dubois managed to get out of Percival.  Merlin wanted to believe that the seasoned agent wouldn’t give up anything, but an hour was a long time to be alone with two world class criminals. “What about Lancelot?”

“Smooth on our end.”  Guinevere turned to pass between the two of them, a mug in each hand.  She shoved one in Merlin’s direction, and he scrambled to take it. “Lancelot’s on the way back to base and the authorities should be busting in to arrest dear Ms. Keller at any moment.  I was just coming over to have you warn Galahad. ETA is three minutes. Suggest he might want to be decent, but if I know our boy, he won’t be.” She squeezed his shoulder and nudged the coffee up towards his mouth, before herding Dagonet back towards his own desk.

Merlin flipped his microphone back on as he turned to return to his.  “Good news. Your rescue is on the way. Interpol is closing in on your location.”

“Ta,” Harry hummed, Keller’s moans increasing in volume.  It seemed that now that the ball was back in his court, Harry wasn’t having any trouble performing.

Merlin sat back down to find a file on it.  He scanned the document as he sipped his coffee.  He didn’t need the boost--Merlin was used to working long hours, but the drink was appreciated all the same.  “I’m turning on the video now,” he warned, then flipped the monitor back on. Keller still had Harry on his back, though she’d moved back down to ride him.

Merlin flushed and looked back down at the file.

Moments later, Interpol bust through the door.  Harry rolled easily from the bed, and allowed the agents to pass him his clothing at point.  “Grant is your agent,” Merlin informed him, reading from the file. “Let him cuff you, and he’ll take you to your ride home.  Percival and Bors have been burned. We’re trying to keep your cover intact.”

Keller was screaming obscenities as agents dragged her out into the hall.  It was a small victory, considering everything else that happened, but Merlin allowed himself a small smile anyway.  Another head of the hydra might rise up to take Keller’s place, but they wouldn’t be able to use this plot again.

No more children doing their smuggling work.

“Bors and Percival are clear,” Mordred announced.

A cheer sounded out through Central.

“Lancelot is clear,” Guinevere added.    


Merlin turned back to his feed in time to see Galahad ushered into his waiting cab.  “Galahad clear,” he echoed, as Harry gave him the same confirmation. Harry took the glasses off and turned them on himself to wink at Merlin.  “Cheeky.”

“You love it.  Thank you for the assist tonight.  I’ll see you back at Headquarters.”  Harry smiled at the camera again, then signed off coms.

 

\------------

 

Harry got off the tube to find Merlin waiting for him.  He beamed in the scot’s direction, and took a step forward, but Merlin shook his head and crossed his arms.  “Well, this isn’t the welcome home I was promised,” he whined. There was no one around to see them, Merlin could have at least given him a little kiss.

“We’ll get there,” Merlin drawled.  “But first, we’re, well, you’re going to medical.”

Those weren’t words that Harry wanted to hear.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.  “It was just a bit of rough, admittedly bad, sex. I’m a little sore, but no worse for wear, really.”  All Harry wanted was a hot bath and the fuck that Merlin promised him, in no particular order.

He dropped his chin and went for coy, but Merlin was unimpressed.  “Let me put it this way. I’m not putting my dick in you until I know that it’s not going to hurt you.  You can get the checkup now, before Percival gets back and they’re busy, or you can wait until Nimue has time for you.  Who knows when that might be?”

Harry sighed.  He didn’t want to go to Medical right now, but Merlin also had a point.  Percival would be the priority once he arrived, and rightfully so. He was still tempted to tell Merlin no, and just go to bed.  It had been a long night, but Harry’s libido won in the end. “I think the handler position is going to your head. I do still outrank you,” Harry reminded him.

Merlin raised a brow but otherwise remained impassive.

“Fine,” Harry gave in.  There was no arguing with him.  “I’ll go. But I want it on record that this is under duress.”

Merlin smiled, and that made the trip to Medical worth it.

Harry wouldn’t call himself free with his emotions, but compared to Merlin he was an open book.  His smiles were rare, and Harry felt almost as if he achieved something at a little flash of jagged tooth.  It was ridiculous, considering how often his tongue had been in that mouth, but that didn’t stop his heart from giving a little jump each time he caught a glimpse. 

They walked shoulder to shoulder to Medical, and Nimue’s waiting arms.  “Miracles do happen,” the soft-spoken woman laughed as she ushered Harry inside.

Merlin didn’t follow them.  Instead, he leaned back against the far wall and winked at Harry as he began to protest.  “I told you I’d get him here. I’ll let you two have some privacy. Good job tonight, Galahad.  I’ll see you later.”

“Traitor,” Harry called out after him.  “Lure me here, then abandon me!”

“Now, Galahad,” Nimue soothed.  “I promise we’ll make this quick.”  He allowed her to lead him deeper into Medical.  She already had a cot and gown laid out for him, and appeared to be in the process of preparing for Percival’s imminent arrival.

“You know the drill, darling, into the gown.”

Harry changed behind the screen more out of propriety than any real modesty.

“I suppose as far as crushes go, Mordred’s boy is a worthy match,”  Nimue commented as she continued her preparations. Harry dropped his belt then bent to pick it up with a shaking hand.  “Perhaps, given enough time, he’ll even return your affections.”

“I haven’t the slightest--”

“Come now, Galahad, let’s not pretend.”

Harry stepped back around to the cot, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that he was dressed in a hospital gown and nothing else.

Nimue seemed ignorant of his turmoil as she set the tray she was preparing aside and approached his cot.  “You’ve been damn near attached at the hip since the moment you met. I’m surprised Lancelot isn’t causing a fuss over it.  You _know_ how he feels about those he deems beneath him.”

Lancelot  _ was _ one of the most vocal agents against Merlin’s inclusion, even if it wasn’t as a Kingsman agent, all due to the circumstances of his birth.  Harry had grown used to tuning his one time mentor out. If anyone thought that Merlin didn’t deserve his position, they were clearly blind, and that  _ wasn’t _ Harry’s little crush talking either.  The man was brilliant-- a genius even.

Nimue began to take place her sensors, and Harry flinched as she smirked, when the sensor placed on his chest revealed his racing heartbeat. “Calm down, Galahad.  I’m not reporting you for a little crush. Past the grumpiness, he is rather adorable, isn’t he? I don’t blame you in the slightest, though I do have to admit seeing you embarrassed is almost refreshing.  Most everything rolls off you like water off a duck’s arse.”

Harry scowled even as he flushed, and folded his arms in his lap, blood pressure cuff be damned.  He was, embarrassed, yes, but also relieved. Nimue might not be blind to his admiration of Merlin, but she hadn’t seen just how far things had gone.  “I’m not embarrassed, or ashamed. I just don’t want to speak of it. We do spend a fair bit of time together,  _ working, _ and I don’t want some little infatuation to get in the way of that.  The work comes first. Besides. He’s  _ straight _ .”

No, Merlin wasn’t.  He was possibly even more bent than Harry, but Nimue didn’t know that.  She didn’t seem to believe him, but stepped back to let her scanner run anyway.  “Call it what you like,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “But I have eyes, and if you get over yourself, I think he’d be good for you.  He certainly doesn’t take any of your  _ shit. _ ”

“Nimue,” Harry gasped with due dramatics.  “Language! What if Arthur heard you speaking that way?”

She rolled her eyes back at him and started pulling the .  “Darling, he’s said far worse. Now, flat on your back, if you would.  Let’s get the rough part of this examination over with.”

  
  


Ten minutes later, Harry left medical thoroughly wrung out and ready for sleep, but he had his clean bill of health, so that was something.  He headed to his quarters instead of seeking Merlin out. After that, he wanted nothing more than a hot bath and to think. 

He swiped his card and stepped into the room to find the bathroom light on.  Harry tensed, but there, leaning against the bathroom door, was Merlin. He’d shed his jumper and tie at some point, leaving him with rolled up sleeves and an untucked shirt.  He was barefoot, and for some reason, Harry’s mind couldn’t let go of that fact. “How did you get in here?”

Merlin’s head tilted to the side.  “How did you get into  _ my _ quarters?”

Harry laughed and locked the door behind him, then toed off his shoes.  “I’m afraid that if you’ve come for your fuck, you’ll have to take a raincheck.  I’m fucking knackered.”

To his surprise, Merlin merely nodded and gestured into the bathroom.  Harry padded through his quarters and peeked inside, the smell of lavender and steam hit him full on in the face.  Merlin ran him a bath.

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew,” he sighed as he began to strip for the third time that evening.  This time he had no energy for finesse. He pulled off each piece and let it drop, then shuffled towards the waiting tub.  Harry sunk down into the almost too hot water with a hiss, then sighed as the water began to soothe away aches he hadn’t even realized he had.  Harry was half asleep when a polite cough made him jerk back to awareness.

Merlin was still hovering in the doorway, awkward and unsure, with Harry’s clothing draped over his arm.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to say something coy and perhaps, even sexy, but what came out was a plaintive, “Stay?”

Merlin took half a step forward before catching himself.  He looked like a man torn with longing for half a second, before it was covered by his impassive mask.  He shook his head and stepped backward into the doorway. “Better not. I should go check in with Mordred.  Try not to drown. You owe me that raincheck.”

Harry swallowed his disappointment and nodded.  “Goodnight.”

Merlin left, and Harry sank down into the water.  It shouldn’t matter. They were barely friends, and getting each other off from time to time didn’t mean that they were comfortable enough to bathe together, but Harry was still disappointed, and lonely all the same.

Bugger.

 

\------------------

 

Merlin made sure to lock Harry’s door behind him, then leaned back against it and sucked in a deep breath.  What in the hell was he thinking?

Harry’s request for him to stay had just about broken his resolve.

It was a moment of clarity that left him stunned.  Merlin had been so wrapped up in his lust that he’d missed the bigger picture.  He didn’t know when it happened, or even how, but at some point he’d fucking fallen for Harry.  Harry and his ridiculous hair and even more ridiculous attitude. His doleful eyes and secretive smile.

He’d wanted nothing more than to strip down and join Harry in that bathtub.  He wanted to wash the aches away and kiss the bruises that Keller left behind.  Then, once they were both clean, Merlin wanted to take Harry to bed and remind him,  _ who _ he belonged to.  Worse than that, once all the reminding was done Merlin wanted to  _ hold _ him until they both fell asleep.

Merlin didn’t know who he was anymore.

He did know, that this was what Harry did.  He got his marks so turned around and confused that they fancied themselves in love.  He got them distracted by the softness of his body, the confidence of his touch, and the  _ compulsion _ of his voice, that they forgot everything else but that  _ taste _ Harry offered them.

Merlin thought that because he’d seen it in Harry, from the first time they’d met that he was immune to it.  He was too smart to fall for those chocolate eyes and the promises they made. He’d even wondered before, if he was even capable of anything more than a fleeting connection.  Technology always came easier to him than people. Merlin’s first love was a circuit board; it was suppose to have been his last.

He was a damn fool.

His head thunked against the thick oak of Harry’s door as Merlin turned his gaze upwards.  He’d never been one to turn his thoughts to a higher power, but it was clear, that he was in deep without rescue in sight.  Surely, whoever was up there watching was laughing their arse off at him, the bastard.

One thing was certain, he had to put a stop to this  _ thing _ he had going on with Harry once and for all.

It wouldn’t be hard.  They’d made no promises; each time was supposed to be the last, after all.  Merlin would just have to put his foot down, and perhaps Harry would never find out what a fool Merlin had been.  He knew that Harry wasn’t one to be purposefully cruel, but Merlin didn’t think he could stand to see the man attempt to let him down easy.

No, it was better just to put a stop to things.  Harry might wonder why, but he would bounce back from whatever hurt it caused, he’d come back from worse.

Merlin had come back from worse.  He just needed a little time and distance, neither things that he would get much of, considering their work, but he  _ could _ push this  _ inconvenience _ aside, and perhaps someday, he would be able to look at Harry again without wanting to taste his lips or hold him in his arms.  Merlin was only eighteen. He had an entire lifetime ahead of him yet, and he was certain that day would come.

He would work until it did.  He would work, and invent, and make sure that Harry--no, the agents, were as safe as they could be.  He would save them, so that they could save the world.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms and took a deep breath.

Tomorrow was day one.  He would get over this.  He had no other choice.

He swung his arm down and knocked against the door with his fist, then pushed away from it with a huff.  There was no telling if Harry had heard the sound, but either way, Merlin was done entertaining his existential crisis.  He walked down the hallway, away from Harry and the temptation to walk back into that room and tell him everything.

  
  
  


The bright lights of Central were near blinding compared to the soft lighting in the agents’ wing of the manor upstairs.  Merlin had been blinking since he got off the elevator. The storefront might close at the end of the day, but Central never slept.  Even when there weren’t any active missions going on, there was always someone on monitor duty.

Despite the bright lights, almost everyone had cleared out after the evening’s missions wrapped up.  There was still work to be done, data to be processed, and footage to be reviewed-- with Keller out of the picture, they would have to move fast to keep the pressure up on Dubois-- but it was work that could be done in shifts, while the others rested to come back at it with fresh eyes in the morning.

It was with no small amount of luck, that only Guinevere remained.

She favored him with a soft smile as the doors slid closed behind him.  “You got Galahad sorted then?”

Merlin’s heart stuttered at the mere mention of Harry.  “Aye.” He coughed to clear his throat. “Daft bugger was just going to go on without getting checked out.  I put an end to that.”

Her smile grew as she motioned for him to come closer.  “I knew when we interviewed you, that you would be the one to talk sense into that boy.  He’s as reckless as they come, but has the potential, you know, to become the star of our little organization.  With you, perhaps he’ll survive long enough to reach that potential.”

Merlin flushed, then caught on a detail.  “But I interviewed to become a technician,” he protested as he approached her station.  All of her monitors were lit, the center console showing the moment that Percival’s feed went dark on a twenty second loop.  “I was never supposed to have contact with the agents.

Guinevere laughed, as she pulled a second seat closer for him to sit by her.  “My dear boy, Mordred has had such plans for you from the moment he received your file from his contact in the infantry.”

“The infantry?  But I was--”

“Discharged for lying about your age.  Yes, I know. It’s in your file, as  _ you well know _ .”  She patted his hand as he slumped down into the seat.  “I don’t pretend to know everything Mordred has up his sleeve, he’s a wiley one, always has been, but surely you must have realized that he never intended to waste  _ your _ potential down in the hangar with the grunts.”

Merlin did have some inkling of it, yes.  The fact alone he hadn’t been reprimanded or fired for his interference in the first mission had been a surprise, when it should have been a clue.  There were other little things as well; Dagonet’s snide comments about his supplementary training, and perhaps even the fact that there was supplementary training at all.  “There may have been a few signs of it,” he admitted at length. “Ones I might have missed because I’ve been trying to well, fit in.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes at him, and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from her otherwise perfect coif behind her ear.  “Men,” she huffed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so concerned with fitting in. You’re not going to, so why waste the effort? Instead, devote your time to being spectacular.  Give them no choice but to accept you for you who are. The ones that do are worth your effort, and damn the rest.”

The clip of video started again.  Merlin’s eyes were drawn to it as he weighed Guinevere’s words.  “I can’t deny that saying damn the rest has it’s appeal but--wait.  Stop.” Rather than waste time with words, Merlin huffed an apology for being rude, and slipped his arm under hers to take control of the mouse.  He slowed the video down until it was playing frame by frame, then at the exact moment, just a millisecond before the feed went blank, paused it.

Guinevere immediately saw what had drawn in Merlin’s attention.  “Oh my,” she gasped. “Is that--no. It couldn’t be! His video feed placed him on the other side of the room.”

“It’s Bors.”

On the next monitor over, Bors’ feed continued to play.  There were no signs that the man himself could be at that precise moment, across the room, leaning over to whisper in Dubois’ ear, but there was no denying that just that was happening on Percival’s own footage.

“Christ,” Merlin cursed, as he slumped back in his seat.  They’d spent months searching, slowly clearing the support staff from suspicion because the agents’ loyalty had never been in question.  The leak had been right under their noses the entire time. “We need to talk to Percival. Quickly. Before Bors catches on.”

“I agree.”  Guinevere’s voice was tight and her expression dour as she pushed back from the console with an angry shove.  Merlin was half worried that she’d arm herself and go after Bors, though he could understand the anger.

He’d only known Bors for a matter of months, but Guinevere?  She had worked with the man for over twenty years. It was a betrayal of the highest order.

She picked up one of the internal system phones and dialed Medical. “Mordred.  I need you to lock down medical. I’m on my way there with Merlin now. Let no one but us inside.  It’s Bors he--”

The power in Central flickered, then for the first time in Merlin’s presence, the lights went out.  The monitors only flashed for a moment before the backup generators kicked in, but Merlin still heard, more than witnessed, the heavy secondary doors slide shut, and lock with a resounding clang.  He turned in their direction anyway, and tried to disengage the lock with no success.

Behind him, Guinevere cursed.  “Shit!” She was already seated back at her monitor, typing at her keyboard with a speed that even Merlin envied.  “You might as well sit down, darling,” she sighed, unflappable as ever as she typed. “The bastard’s put us into lockdown.  There’s no opening those doors without Arthur’s override.”

Merlin tried once more, then shuffled his way to his desk, to take up his own battle station, so to speak.  “And if something happens to Arthur?”

“To put it kindly, we’re fucked.” She paused for a moment to look over her shoulder at him, then turned back to her monitor.  “I’m getting to old for this. Try to contact the agents. Get the word out. I’ll be attempting to lock him out of the system.  Keep him from triggering anymore of his defenses.”

“Yes m’am.”  It was the crowning moment of an already shitty day, but Merlin did as he was told, and slipped his communicator into his ear.  There was never any doubt to who he was going to attempt and contact first. It didn’t even process as a thought in his mind before he was already speaking.

“Galahad, this is Merlin.  Do you copy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tag Summary: Harry's mark for the mission is into pegging her lovers, but is abysmal at it. Merlin talks Harry through it. The description of the pegging itself is not overly descriptive.
> 
> Okay! After our wonderfully sexy interlude, the plot is back into play. Alas.
> 
> To quote my beta; Fuck Bors.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I'm enjoying getting to see all the reactions to the fic! We're in the home stretch now. I'll post the final chapter and the epilogue both on Thursday. I'm so excited!
> 
> I can be found at [ fvckingspectacvlar](http://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com) where I mostly just let the queue roll because I'm lazy like that.
> 
> Next Chapter: Bors, the fucking traitor, is on the loose, and Merlin is trapped in Central. It's up to Harry to save the day. Right?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bors has taken control of Headquarters and it's up to the remaining agents to take it back.
> 
> Whoever designed the manor was _clearly_ a sadist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply. Author's notes will be at the end of the epilogue also being posted tonight. Enjoy!

Harry padded into his bedroom after his bath and was faced with a flashing monitor.  He ignored it in favor of retrieving his dressing gown; it was likely to be the customary notification of his debrief in the morning.  That could wait. He had more important things on his mind; such as the situation with Merlin.

It was messy.

Harry found himself in an unprecedented situation.  It was lust at first sight when they’d laid eyes on each other, but Harry never expected that he would come to  _ like _ the surly Scot so much.  He wouldn’t call it love though either.  He didn’t want to hold Merlin’s hand, and had no desire to call him  _ darling, _ but he  _ did _ want him around--and not just when they were having sex, but in general.

It was a novel feeling.  Harry had never been one for close companionship.  He’d skated through his schooling as, of course, the most popular boy around, but without letting anyone too close.  To be frank, he had little interest in other people beyond the superficial.

Merlin was different though, and Harry wasn’t sure what to do with that desire.  He’d worked the problem over as he soaked, but hadn’t come to a conclusion. He never was much for hypothesis testing either.  Mordred liked to call him impulsive, along with a few other choice words, but Harry just didn’t have the time to sit and wade through all the possibilities.

More often than not, the path of least resistance was the most ideal.  The problem was that Merlin was a complicated man, and there seemed to be no uncomplicated answers.

Harry huffed.

He was going in circles again.  Whatever the answer, he wasn’t content to just stand by and let things continue as they were.  That might be the  _ safest _ option, but stagnation was also boring.  Unsatisfying. 

He wrapped the robe around his body, toed on his slippers, then made a cup of tea before he settled at his desk to check his messages.

 

[PUT ON YOUR COMMUNICATOR

-M]

 

Well.  Shit. That didn’t bode well.  Here he was dithering about when he should have checked the monitor immediately.  Harry wouldn’t make that mistake again. Ever.

Harry pushed back to his feet.

There were two possible M’s that the message could be from; Mordred or Merlin.  Either one addressing him so abruptly was cause for concern. His earpiece was still in his jacket pocket where he left it and he slid the glasses back on for good measure.  “Galahad online. Hello?”

The familiar burst of static heralded the line becoming active.  “Galahad.” It was Merlin. One mystery solved. “Thank Christ. When you didn’t respond--”

For a moment, Harry thought the silence was interference in the line, but they were in Headquarters, and the technology was too good for that sort of error.  “What’s going on?” He asked when Merlin didn’t continue, and tried not to read too much into Merlin’s silence.

On the other end of the line, Merlin sighed.  “Our leak revealed himself.” Another pause. “It’s Bors, and he’s loose in the manor.”

Again, he didn’t continue, though, this time the silence allowed Harry to come to terms with the information he was given.  All through their month’s long drama, never had Harry suspected one of his fellow agents. They were tested so thoroughly during their recruitment that the very idea of it being one of the twelve seemed unthinkable.

“Fuck.”

Now that he knew though it should have been obvious from the start.  All those little times he’d made a comment to Bors, or asked him questions just before a mission, only to have that mission go bad.

Rollings had been a failed candidate during the  _ Bors _ trials-- fuck him.  Fuck them both.

“Fuck,” he echoed himself and wondered if he was going to be sick.  He wouldn’t have described them as friends, but there was a level of camaraderie between them.  Bors was an agent with decades under his belt, and easily in line to be the next Arthur. How could he throw all of that away?

Fury came next.  Harry’s stomach clenched around the feeling.  He didn’t consider himself to be a violent person, though he  _ was _ a person capable of great violence, but he didn’t tend to wish harm on those around him.  He did what he had to, to those that deserved it, and then moved on with his life.

Bors had awakened something ugly in Harry.  He wanted to make the man  _ pay _ for this betrayal.

“Yes, that seems to be the general reaction.”  Merlin’s tone was wry, but gentle in a way that Harry appreciated.  Unfortunately, it did little to stifle the flame kindling within him.  How  _ dare _ Bors?  “I need you to gear up.  We don’t know what his current goal is, only that his plan seems to be divide and conquer.”

The furious, betrayed part of Harry relished in the chance to take down Bors, while the more human part of him began to mourn for the man he knew.

He wasted no time in pulling a fresh suit on, the movements automatic but the results no less perfect for all of Harry’s inattention to the act.  His aches and bruises from the mission before were all but forgotten, and he barely even wasted a second to check himself over in the mirror before continuing on.

Bors was likely to be dressed the same, but also, better armed. 

Agents were required to turn in their weaponry at the end of missions for cleaning and maintenance.  Harry complied with the regulation for the most part, but everyone had their favorite trinkets that they cared for themselves, and Harry’s happened to be his sidearm.  It rarely left his person. He also had the umbrella prototype Merlin gave him to play with just days before. It was untested, but Harry had faith in everything Merlin touched.  The genius wouldn’t give him anything he thought was less than perfect.

“Alright.  Read me in.”  Harry stalked to the door and pushed the handle, only to find himself locked in.  It should have been impossible. The key cards made it so that the doors only locked from the outside, but he jiggled the handle, and the door still did not open.  “Belay that,” he growled. “I appear to be trapped.”

 

\------------------------

 

Central was under attack.

When the lockdown first began, Merlin and Guinevere assumed that Bors had done so on purpose.  Ten minutes into lockdown, and it seemed that the opposite was true-- that he’d triggered the defenses by accident while attempting to get inside the mainframe.  On one hand, it was a blessing. Things were not as out of control as they expected,  _ and _ Bors had no way of accessing whatever he was after inside.

On the other hand, they were still trapped as a talented hacker, and munitions expert tried to find a way inside.  The defenses were holding, and the handlers were keeping him at bay on the hacking front, but it wouldn’t be long before he moved on to explosives.

“Sharon, darling.  It really would be easier on everyone if you just let me in, the go on my way.  Think of the property damage. I don’t  _ want _ to hurt any of you, but I will, if you make me.”

They had access to the communications systems and the cameras, but so did Bors.  It was like watching a tennis match in a way. Bors would take control of the cameras, and Guinevere would take them back as Merlin changed the codes to attempt to lock Bors out.  Meanwhile, Bors would take the sensors, and the process would begin again.

They’d reached almost a compromise on the communications system, but Merlin wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than fighting over it.  Bors hadn’t shut up since he made contact with them.

It was a distraction tactic to keep Bors busy, while Merlin worked on another console to regain control of the door locks.  The lockdown in Central might have been a fortunate accident, but the lockdown of the rest of the manor was not. The electronic locks were the first system that Bors took control of, and he’d done  _ something _ that was giving Merlin fits in trying to take them back.

He was the superior hacker, but he could not wrap his head around what Bors had done.

“That’s Guinevere to you,” Guinevere drawled without a hitch in her typing.  “You sad sack of shit. You might as well just put yourself out of our misery, because you’re not getting in here, and you’re not making it out of the building either.”  She was grace under pressure with the mouth of a sailor, not that Merlin held that against her. 

Each roadblock he hit drew another string of expletives from his own lips; the only difference was, he’d never cared much for appearing proper.

“Such language, Sharon.  Whatever would Arnold think?”

“You locked  _ Arthur _ in the shop you prat, and I’d daresay he’d approve, if not have a few choice words of his own.  He always was the more creative between the two of us.”

Merlin paused, then readied himself to try a different approach with the doors.  If he couldn’t hack them with code, then perhaps there was another way. He stood to climb up on his desk, and  _ that _ was when Harry come on coms.

Tension that he didn’t even know he was shouldering drained down Merlin’s spine.  He’d thought the worst when he’d hailed Harry first and not gotten an answer. Arthur had responded before Merlin even finished talking.  He, Lamorak, Gawain, and Dagonet were trapped in the shop.

Mordred, Percival, and Nimue were in Medical.

Lancelot and Tristan were still en route from France with the rest of the Alpha extraction, while the remaining agents were stationed all over Europe.  Arthur had ordered the recall, but of the agents afield, only Lancelot would make it back in time.

Harry was the last missing element.  It was just like him to be late. 

“Belay that.  I appear to be trapped.”

“I warned you of that,” Merlin hummed as he raised up on his tiptoes to push the ceiling tile directly overhead out of the way.  “Divide and conquer. He’s got the remaining staff sealed off in various parts of the building.” He mentioned nothing about his plan to perhaps win that battle for them.  Merlin couldn’t be sure how much Bors was hearing.

He could hear Harry scoff over the sound of the tile grating.  “Well work faster. The sooner I’m out of this room, the sooner this is over.”  There was something tight and cold in Harry’s voice that Merlin had never heard before.  It thrilled him almost as much as it frightened him.

“Easy,” he tried to soothe.  “Let’s not go after Bors half-cocked and without a plan.”  Bors was too smart, and too experienced to go down easy. Rushing him would only end with more trouble than they started with.  No, they needed to be calm and rational about things. They needed a workable plan, and Merlin had one. Well, half of one. 

Maybe just a quarter.

He had an idea; one that was stewing in the back of his mind, as he nodded to Guinevere before hoisting himself up into the ceiling.

“Oh, I’m fully cocked,” Harry bit out, derision all but dripping from his tone.  “And my plan is to shoot Bors in the fucking face.”

Merlin believed him, and he might even be able to make that happen for him.

The ceiling crawl space was a mess of wires that seemed to have no rhyme or reason.  Clearly, as new technology had emerged over the years and Kingsman upgraded, no one had seen it fit to do anything than run the new wires around the old ones.  If they survived this, that was something Merlin was going to have to fix. This kind of disorder was unacceptable, and made what he was attempting to do all the harder.

“So bloodthirsty, Harry.  Have my actions offended you that much?”  Now there was no doubt that Bors was listening in.  Shite.

For all his talk about plans and calmness and rationality, Merlin wasn’t going to be able to convey this to anyone other than Guinevere.  To try and let Harry know what was about to come, was to give the element of surprise away. He shuffled through the mess of wires until he found one that should lead him where he wanted to go.

“Bors has access to this line?” Harry squawked, incredulous, before his voice filled with that tight, cold rage once more.  “If he knew what was good for him, he’d flee the country before I got out of this damn room.”

“I’m shaking in my boots, baby agent,”  Bors drawled.

Merlin stifled a sneeze in the crook of his arm, and nearly lost track of the wire he was following as he looked away.  He only had the small flashlight from his watch to work with, and dust particles danced the the beam of light. He started to breathe shallower as he found the wire again, and continued to crawl through the mess of wires to find his goal.

“I don’t expect any of you to understand it.  I’ve spent the best years of my life working for this godforsaken organization, and for what?  An unmarked grave if I’m lucky?”

“You knew what you were signing up for,” Harry insisted.

“Did I,” Bors asked.  “Do you? Do you understand how lonely you’ll be in ten years down the line?  Twenty?” There was something almost frantic to his tone. Merlin scoffed; Bors was full of bullshit.  It was the sound of a man trying to justify his actions to himself after the fact. “My brother sends me pictures of his grandchildren at Christmas.  I  _ hate  _ them, and he will never understand why.”

“You can’t expect us to believe that you’re betraying everything you’ve ever believed in because you’re  _ lonely _ ,” Guinevere hissed.  Merlin had forgotten she was on the line at all.

It was no matter.  He reached the end of the wire he was following, and found what he was looking for; the breaker that ran to the backup generator under Central.  It had been a gamble, if the box was even up here, though Merlin wasn’t adverse to merely cutting wires to get the effect he was after.

His plan was reckless, borderline insane, and a clear sign that he’s been spending far too much time around Harry.    


“I’m sure the money, and your new human trafficker friends are making your life so much less lonely,” Harry drawled.

“Galahad,” Merlin interrupted before the standoff could continue.  “On my signal, the hunt is on.”

Bors made an inquisitive sound at that.  “And what signal would that be, Merlin? Does the magician have something up his sleeve?  I have control of the cameras now. Just where have you gotten to?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Merlin replied as he worked the box open. “Goodbye Bors.  And good luck.” He flipped off the security systems one by one, until finally he flipped the main switch.  In his little corner of the ceiling crawl space, there was no change, though the com in his ear went silent without so much as a burst of static.

It wasn’t a magical fix.  The locks were still engaged, but now could be manually unlocked.  He sent a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, then began to count the seconds.

 

\----------------

 

The auxiliary lights that had come on when the power was cut flickered out of existence, and plunged Harry into darkness.  Harry blinked, his eyes slow to adjust to the fact that the only light in the room came from the face of his watch. It was just as quiet as it was dark.    


“Merlin?”  No answer. No indication at all that the other man had heard him.

Harry could only hope that this was the promised sign.

He shuffled his way forward back to the door, and tried the handle.  It was still locked. Bugger.

There was no way of telling if the blackout was hat Merlin intended of if Bors had done something to interfere.

Harry started to go over his options.  The window was a possibility, though he had no gear and the building was designed in a way to discourage attempts at scaling it.  Success was unlikely, but he never let bad odds stop him before. He was eyeing the bedsheets when the solution hit him.

He recalled a conversation he had with Mordred the day he moved into the agent’s wing.

“Should the building lose power,” Mordred told him.  “The door locks will remain engaged. However, they can be manually opened and closed with one of these.”  He passed Harry the key. It was just a small cylinder, no bigger than a toothpick, and Harry could feel more than see the patterns etched into one end.  It felt like a very tiny drill bit.

Harry could see it in his mind’s eye, but couldn’t remember what he’d done with it for the life of him.  The desk. It had to be there. It was the first piece of furniture he’d had moved into the room--even before the bed.

He hadn’t thought it was possible for the manor-fortress to be completely in the dark.  He never thought he’d need the key, but he knew well enough to put it somewhere safe.

Harry shuffled back through the room towards his desk as quick as he dared.  He knew the layout of his rooms like the back of his hand, but that was no excuse to get sloppy and waste time slipping over something unexpected.

His hand curled around the edge of the desk with enough time to stop him from banging his shins into the lower drawer handle.  He poked at his wristwatch to make the glowing green numbers brighter and began to rifle through the drawers. The top two drawers turned up with nothing, but in the bottom, Harry felt his fingers roll over a small piece of metal.  He struggled to find it again, then get it between his nails to lift. Once he had it in hand, he closed his fingers tight around it. 

He would never find it again if he dropped it.

Harry pressed the key into the slot and breathed a sigh of relief as the lock clicked open.  He opened the door, pocketed the key, and twisted to pick up his umbrella, when his watch beeped.  There was a message scrolling on the tiny screen-- a series of dots and dashes; morse code. Impatient, Harry began translating the message halfway through it.  It was enough to get the gist.

 

BTTN RGHT GLSSES ARM M

 

Harry reached up and felt along the right arm of his glasses, pressing down until he felt something give, and depress near the frame.

The frames themselves seemed to flash before the world through them lit up in shades of green.

“Merlin, you magnificent, late man,” Harry praised, knowing full well that Merlin couldn’t hear him, as he looked around to test the night vision.  The image was grainy and didn’t move quite as fast as Harry did, but it was better than being blind in the dark. “This would have been useful five minutes ago.”

Now that he could see, there was no stopping Harry from stepping out into the hallway, his umbrella at ready.  There wasn’t a soul in sight, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Part of Harry knew that his first stop should be Medical.  Mordred and Percival were inside, but instead, Harry took the path that would lead him straight for Central.  His time fumbling about in the dark had done nothing to curb his temper, and while he might not be making the best choices, he was making the ones that appealed to him most.

His needle key got him access to the stairwell that was hidden between the two elevator shafts on the main floor.  It was little better than construction scaffolding; a spiral suspended from the ceiling on cables, with no arm rails, and steps barely as wide as Harry’s shoe was long.

The darkness somehow felt more menacing as Harry took his first steps.  The structure swayed under his weight, but Harry’s movements were quick and sure.  Was he still even in Kingsman headquarters, or had he found some sort of dimensional rift into a house of horrors?

A muffled explosion went off somewhere beneath him, and the stairs went from swaying to full out rocking.    


“Fuck,” Harry cursed, as he locked his arms tight around the nearest cables.  He was going to have words with Arthur about this deathtrap. He took a few more careful steps before another explosion shook the manor.  Bors had stepped up his game in answer to Merlin’s play with the power, and damn it all to hell Harry needed to be there now.

He made it a few more steps before a third explosion shook his umbrella free from where it was hooked over his arm and clattered down off the side of the steps and fell into the darkness.  Harry watched it go, until even the night vision couldn’t keep track of it. Shite. He’d never considered himself to have a particular fear of heights before, but this experience just might change things.

He took the rest of the stairs slowly, hanging on to the suspension cables for dear life, cursing Merlin and Bors both with every step.  One more obstacle and he might just leave Bors to it.

That was a lie.  He was going to shoot Bors in the fucking face, set him on fire, and let Merlin piss on the ashes.

Harry reached the bottom of the staircase in one piece though, and if that wasn’t sign enough that his mission was a righteous one, his umbrella was waiting for him there right below the last step, in once piece and fully functional.

The exit let out into the hangar.  It was the largest room in headquarters, but in the darkness, it was claustrophobic.  Harry was cautious as he stepped out into the room, but it was as abandoned as the rest of the manor.  Lucky, or opportunistic, that the support staff had gone home for the night before Bors launched his assault? 

Harry had to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve.  The air was thick with smoke and dust, though there was no sign of the fire that had caused it.  After a moment Harry pinpointed the source; the vents above the massive window where Central overlooked the hangar.  Central itself was so full of smoke that Harry couldn’t make out anything inside. Fuck. Had Bors breached the doors?

The lack of further explosions only added to that particular worry.

There was no reason to stick to the shadows as Harry broke into a full out run.  Distasteful as it was, the blast doors on this side would be closed, and, as it appeared, nothing short of an explosion or two would move them, so those smoke filled vents were his only way in.

He chanced by a rolling ladder, used to service the planes, and pushed it along to his destination. Harry huffed a soft cough, as he slipped his jacket off, and secured it around his face.  The smoke was already making his eyes water, but it would be so much worse once he was in the vent.

“Keep him distracted just a bit longer, Merlin.  Help is on the way.”

 

\--------

 

The original plan had been to turn the power back on once Merlin judged that those locked away had been able to get free.  The original plan had gone to shit the moment Bors set off the first explosive, and sent Merlin crashing down through the ceiling and onto the monitors of Dagonet’s desk.

His body screamed in pain upon impact, and Merlin lost the concept of time.  He could hear Guinevere screech through the ringing in his ears, but couldn’t pull the breath to assure her that he was alright.  Merlin wasn’t sure that he  _ was alright _ , but that was neither here nor there.

He took a moment, then attempted to roll off the monitors to sit on the edge of the desk, but managed to miss, and end up sprawled on the floor.  At least this time, his landing was on a flat surface. He let out a pitiful groan, and bit down on his tongue as he rode out the sparks of agony.

Lights flashed in front of Merlin’s eyes, and he closed them against it as he groaned again and attempted to roll onto his side.  He didn’t make it far before a firm hand on his shoulder pressed him flat onto his back. He wheezed and cracked his eyes open to glare at the owner of said hand.  The light wasn’t shining right into his eyes anymore, but was still close enough that he could see Guinevere’s worried face looking down at him. She was saying something that Merlin couldn’t quite parse.

He attempted to roll again. She pushed him back down, again.  “--op trying to move, damn you.”

Sound resolved itself quicker than the ability to breathe, but Merlin pushed through the pain to insist, “I’m alright.”

Guinevere was unimpressed.  “Nimue will be the judge of that when--”

Another explosion rumbled through Central.  Guinevere covered Merlin’s body with her own as more debris fell from the ceiling.  He clenched her hand until the building settled once more.

Merlin tried again to get up once she pulled away, but was stopped by her firm hand on his shoulder again.  “Third time’s the charm, boy. Do us both a favor and stay down. I have more things to worry about than your possibly broken back, because you fell from the fucking ceiling.  What were you thinking, cutting the power like that?”

Even in the low light he could see as Guinevere's concern gave way to annoyance.  He closed his eyes against it, only for them to fly open at the click of a safety.

Guinevere's attention was no longer on Merlin, but instead, her eyes, and gun, were trained on the figure stepping through a small slit between the two blast doors.  Bors-- the madman had done it. Somehow he’d penetrated the impenetrable and was one step closer to his goal, whatever that was.

Bors was illuminated both by the torch and a flickering light from the hall behind him.  Light wasn’t the only thing coming through the gap; smoke billowed in around Bors, the hallway was on fire.

Merlin ached to get up, to do  _ anything, _ but lay there prone, but in deference to Guinevere, he didn’t so much as twitch.  Perhaps, he could play it to his advantage. If Bors  _ thought _ that Merlin was prone, he would underestimate him.

“What a mess we’ve made,” Bors hummed, sounding almost regretful as he looked at the ruined monitors, the hold in the ceiling, and finally down to the two dust covered handlers.  “You could have just let me take what I wanted, and we could have avoided all of this.” His side arm was out as well, and Merlin was concerned to find that it was pointed at him.    


Bors was using him as leverage.

That was a bitter pill to swallow, but it didn’t stop Merlin from snarking.  “We wouldn’t have had to do this at all if you just left, or better yet, hadn’t defected in the first place.”

Bors scoffed.  “You wouldn’t know anything about it,  _ bastard. _  You know nothing about what I’ve given, and what I’ve sacrificed.  I’m just here to take my due. Now tell me, what you did, and don’t think that dear Sharon is quicker on the draw than I am.  Her finger isn’t even on the trigger.”

Merlin chanced a glance in her direction.  Bors was right. While  _ his _ finger was just itching to pull, Guinevere’s was not.  Merlin brushed his fingers against her thigh, and for all her cool exterior, he could feel the tension in her body making her tremble.  She didn’t  _ want _ to shoot Bors, and was giving him every chance in the world to walk away, but Merlin trusted her to do what had to be done if things came down to the wire.

“I cut the power lines at the breaker.”  Merlin drew the room’s attention back to himself with a half truth, that rang genuine enough to Bor’s ears if the look of rage that crossed his face was any indication.  Merlin smiled. “I wish you all the luck in the world getting that sorted before Lancelot walks through the front door.”  _ Not to mention Galahad, who was hopefully already loose in the building, _ though Bors didn’t need to know that.

“Just put the weapon down,” Guinevere ordered, the shaking in her arms absent from the tone of her voice, though it was clear that she wasn’t unaffected by the smoke still wafting into the room--neither was Merlin.  His eyes were watering, and the itching in his throat was becoming unbearable. He swallowed around the building cough. “It’s over.”

Bors seemed to consider it for a moment.  His shoulders slumped, and the gun lowered, though not enough to leave Merlin unharmed should it go off.  Then he shook his head. “No. The key to the server room, where is it?”

Guinevere answered.  “Only Mordred knows that.”

Even through the tears and the haze in the room, Merlin could see the play of emotions cross Bor’s face.  His plan was breaking down, and the window of opportunity for his escape was closing. He snarled in their directions; the remaining traces of the cool, competent agent disappeared and gave way to the madman that had set off explosives in a place that had been his home for over twenty years.

“You think you’ve won something,” he spat.  “But you haven’t. You haven’t won shit. I didn’t want to do this.  I didn’t want to hurt  _ any _ of you.  All I needed were the weapon plans, and I could go.”

_ That _ was what Bors was after?  Merlin made a startled gasp, that set off the cough that he’d been fighting, and once he started, it was impossible to start.  Against Guinevere’s wishes, he curled onto his side, and tried to push up so he could draw breath.

Bors raised his gun to properly take aim once more.

Merlin tried to make his peace with it, even as he huffed into the crook of his arm and wheezed.  They all knew Guinevere wouldn’t be able to shoot Bors-- not in time to keep him from shooting Merlin.  There was too much history between them that made her indecisive. He didn’t blame her, not really. There was nowhere near as much between Harry and himself, but they were in this situation, Merlin wasn’t sure that he’d be able to take the shot either.

There was no cold comfort.  It was all so pointless.

Not now.  Not like this.  Not flat on his back with smoke filling his lungs and no way out.  Not for  _ nothing. _ .  If he wanted to die this way, he could have stayed in Scotland.

Bors pulled the trigger.

Merlin closed his eyes.

Nothing.

Merlin opened his eyes again to find that the bullet had missed its mark because somewhere out of the haze, a figure rolled between them, umbrella unfurled.  The bullet pinged off the reinforced dome, along with the next two that followed.

Harry, because no one else was all limbs like that, shifted the shield into a one handed hold, then raised his own sidearm to return fire.  Bors dove behind a desk, but not fast enough to keep Harry from clipping him in the leg. 

“Galahad,” Bors called out from where he was hidden.  “So nice of you to join us.”

“You’re late,” Merlin drawled, causing Harry to spare a moment to glare down at him.

“I’d like to see you navigate the emergency staircase while someone was doing his damndest to bring the mansion down about our ears.”

 

\---------

 

He was almost too late.

The smoke in the vent was so thick that it was unbearable.  He held his breath more than he breathed and kept his head down as he inched forward.

Harry didn’t have much time to take stock of the situation as he eased himself out of the vent and into the room.  At least in this case the smoke seemed to be a blessing. Bors was standing in the middle of the room, gun angled downwards.  Guinevere and Merlin were nowhere to be seen, so Harry could only assume that they were on the ground at the business end of Bors’ gun.

He eased himself around the edge of the room until Merlin’s prone farm revealed itself and Harry’s heart just about stopped-- in the haze he couldn’t tell if Merlin was breathing.  His eyes narrowed as he looked for a sign of life, but then Bors raised his weapon and Harry recognized the intent for what it was. Without thinking, he threw himself over the desk and rolled between the handlers and Bors, his umbrella already in position as it unfurled in a time to block the shots.

A grand entrance.

Harry returned fire, smug, when he clipped Bors who dove for cover.

“Galahad,” Bors called out.  Harry could hear him reloading.  “So nice of you to join us.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, when a soft, “You’re late,” drew his attention down to Merlin.  He didn’t  _ sound _ injured, but he was curled, half on his side with Guinevere kneeling over him.

“I’d like to see you navigate the emergency staircase while someone was doing this damnedest to bring the mansion down about our ears,” he grumbled in return, as he passed the umbrella back to Guinevere.  “Situation?”

“He was after the weapon plans,”  Guinevere reported. “Now I think he merely plans on shooting us all in a pique of anger.”

“Bors, you idiot, did you go in without an exit plan?” Harry laughed as he sent another shot angled at the desk Bors was hiding behind by, just to keep track of the man.  “That’s just sloppy.”

“My plan was fine, until your little pet bastard got it in his head to cut the power.  I was going to repay his favor by putting him out of his misery before my new  _ friends _ hear about this.”  Bors was right where Harry left him, but that didn’t mean that Harry was going to stay where  _ he was _ . 

He slowly rose back to his feet, and eased between Mordred and Merlin’s desks to cut Bors off.  The room was still dark and hazy, but Harry had the advantage. The feed from his glasses was hazy, but was better than nothing, and was more than Bors had.

Merlin reached over and thumbed off Guinevere’s torch.

Harry didn’t speak, doing so would give his new position away.    


“What’s wrong Galahad?” Bors laughed.  “Surprised that I know just how close you and our newest handler have gotten?  Perhaps Guinevere would like to hear some of the stories I have? Perhaps the time I was walking in---”

“Surprise,”  Harry kicked one of the rolling chairs in Bors direction ducked down out of the path of the bullet Bors sent back at him.  It wasn’t difficult. The shot was wild.

Now that Harry’s earlier rage had time to abate, he was torn.  He still wanted nothing more than to shoot Bors for all of this, but he also knew he should do his best to take the man alive.  They’d run into so many roadblocks on the case with Dubois, that taking Bors, the  _ turncoat _ , alive could mean a real turning point.

They could get some  _ real _ information if they could break him.

On the other hand, Harry  _ really wanted to kill him. _

Harry pushed the ball of rage back down, and threw himself in Bors direction.  His suit deflected the next shot, as Harry abandoned his own gun to throw a punch at Bors’ stupid fucking face.  “You were supposed to be the next  _ Arthur, _ ” Harry ground out as his fist caught Bors in the temple.

Bors swung out a leg to try and trip Harry up, and Harry used the movement to drop down on him instead.  The older man tried to roll them over, but Harry brought his elbow up against his sternum. The air went out of Bors in a woosh, and Harry used it as an opportunity to knock his gun away.

It wasn’t civilized.  They were brawling on the floor like a couple of drunks, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.  He’d decided to spare Bors’ life for the better good, but  _ this _ at least allowed him to work out some of that rage.  He wasn’t going to last long, however. Every move he made took twice as much effort as the last, and they were both wheezing with every breath.    


He let out a grunt as Bors’ fist slammed into his ribs.  Bors rolled them over then, pushing his weight into Harry’s stomach as his hands found their way around Harry’s throat and  _ squeezed. _

Harry’s back arched as he bucked up and tried to dislodge the larger man.  His arms scrambled, sharp nails seeking out Bors’ vulnerable eyes, but Bors leaned back and Harry’s nails scratched against his cheeks.

“You were supposed to be Arthur,” Bors mocked, chest heaving.  Between the smoke and Bors’ hands around his neck, Harry’s lungs were screaming.  “You’re so young, Galahad, and I wish you hadn’t gotten all caught up in this. I don’t expect you to understand it now.  Perhaps, if you hadn’t crossed me, you would have come to understand in time.”

Some of the pressure on his throat let up as Bors removed a hand from Harry’s throat to fish something out of his inner jacket pocket.  “I know I’m not going to survive tonight, Galahad. The only thing I can do now is take as much of this godforsaken organization down with me.”

He waved the item in front of Harry’s face, and Harry knew then, with a sinking feeling, that Bors  _ did _ have an exit plan.  “How many,” he gasped as he changed his plan of attack.  Bors’ gun hadn’t gone far, if he could just reach it.

“Everywhere,” Bors laughed.  “Except, well here. Funny how senior agent’s access works.  Rethinking what you said about exi--”

A shot rang through the room, and Bors cursed and dropped the remote.  Harry took his chance and sealed his own fingers around it, as he took up the gun with his other hand.  Bors snarled and scrambled for it, but it was too late. Harry had the gun aimed at his head.

The rage seemed to drain out of the other man.  He sat up high on Harry’s stomach, cradling his bleeding wrist against his chest and didn’t move.  Behind him, Guinevere stepped into Harry’s line of sight, her gun pointed at the back of Bors’ head.  Harry didn’t know when she moved, or how long she had been waiting to take the shot, but he was grateful she did.    


“Go ahead, kill me,” Bors needled.  “I know what’s waiting for me. Just do it.”

“No,” Guinevere denied.  “You’ll live to pay for your crimes.”

Just like that, it was over.  Time seemed to stand still, until suddenly, the power flickered back on.  The effect was stunning. Harry blinked into the lights overhead, and the fans coming on to suck the smoke from the room sounded like a jet taking off right next to him.  The blast doors were pushed open as bodies began to squeeze through the gap.

The cavalry had arrived.

Hands came down heavy on Bors’ shoulders and pulled him away.  Harry blinked again, and shoved up on his elbows, in time to see Lancelot slide cuffs around Bors’ arms.  A hand moved into his line of vision and Harry refocused on it, and the person it belonged to. Mordred. Harry took it, and Mordred pulled him up to a sitting position, then slid an oxygen mask around his face.

“I know what you’re about to tell me lad,” Mordred spoke rapidly, sending a glare Harry’s direction when he tried to protest.  “And I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself. You will be keeping that mask on, and you are going straight back to Medical. You’ve been in this smoke long enough for us to have to worry about brain damage.”  His gaze softened as he looked Harry over, and his tone took a teasing edge. “Good job stalling, and keeping him alive. I know it must of have been hard for you to show a bit of restraint.”

Harry glared up at him, and Mordred reached down to give him a pat on the head.

“Sit tight, lad.  Your ride is here.”

Mordred and Tristan hauled him up onto the stretcher, and Harry found himself thankful to be settled on the surface.  He was bloody  _ exhausted. _  Mordred gave him one last pat before he pulled away.  Harry craned his neck, to try and follow the movement.  Tristan followed, and together they hefted a second person upwards.

He’d lost track of Merlin during the fight, but there he was now, on a stretcher of his own, looking as fowl and grumpy as ever.  Their eyes met, and Harry flashed a bright smile through his mask, that had Merlin’s eyes rolling.

The same emotion that he had been dithering about in his room earlier came back full force, and Christ, had that only been half an hour ago?  It felt like years.

His smile faded from cheeky to fond, and Harry had to turn away lest Merlin see it.    


They were okay.

This was a win.

He watched Lancelot drag Bors from the room.

It was.

Wasn’t it?


	9. Chapter 9

Bors’ defection sent Kingsman into a tailspin.  While Guinevere, Merlin and Harry recovered in Medical, all active agents were recalled to headquarters for the first time since World War 2.  Missions were abandoned, long-term covers were burned, and everyone was being re-evaluated. Every inch of headquarters was scoured, once, twice, then three times more, until everyone was reasonably sure that all the explosives were accounted for.

Merlin would have liked to aid in that, but it was well and done with by the time Nimue was willing to let him out of her tender clutches.  Two days after the showdown and he still felt like there was an elephant sitting on his chest, and his back--Christ, his back.

He got off light with some deep bruising, but Merlin didn’t feel particularly lucky.

“Stop scowling, lad, and remember how blessed you are to have an excuse to miss the endless meetings this mess has caused,” Mordred drawled as he watched Merlin shrug on the dressing gown that he’d provided.

“And why aren’t you in one of those meetings?” Merlin drawled right back at him.    


Mordred smiled at him.  “Because I’m here to make sure my favorite subordinate makes it back to his rooms, and doesn’t get lost on the way.”

“You’re using me as an excuse.”

“I’m using you as an excuse.”

Merlin tied the belt tight around his waist.  “At least we can be honest with each other.” He coughed to clear his throat.

“C’mon son.  The quicker we get you back to quarters, the quicker we can get you back in bed, and I can get back to my endless bevy of meetings.”  Mordred swept up the list of instructions that Nimue left him, then ushered Merlin towards the door.

Merlin clenched the way he always did when Mordred called him son, but didn’t make an issue of it.  Mordred, looked tired, well, he always looked tired, it was a hazard of the job, but everytime he checked in on the invalids, his eyes looked a little duller and his shoulders slumped a little more.  If the only thing that Merlin could do to take a little of his burden was not protest, then he would do it.

Mordred wasn’t about to let him do anything else.

What should have been a busy hallway was deserted.  “Have they gotten anything out of Bors?”

“Same answer as before.  Your only concern now is to rest and get back to full health so you can start doing  _ your _ job again.  Let the rest of us do ours.”

Merlin bit his tongue.   _ It _ had been Mordred’s job to find out who the leak was.  They’d been searching for months, but Bors had still covered headquarters in explosives and tried to blow them all to hell. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted instead, the effect ruined by a short round of huffing coughs that had Merlin putting a hand on the wall for support. Mordred put an arm on his shoulder and held him up until the fit passed.

“I thought we were being truthful with each other.” Mordred gave him a knowing look as they started down the hallway again.  “You and Galahad are just peas in a pod. I believe you about as much as I believed him.”

Harry.

He’d been as pensive as the older agents while in the bed next to Merlin-- the oxygen masks and constant flow of people in and out made it impossible to have a conversation, until he got released, before Merlin, and left with a smile and a wink.

The cheeky bugger.

He hadn’t returned, and Merlin tried not to read too much into that.  The last time they’d been alone together well.

“The door is open, Merlin.”    


He startled at the order, and realized that he was standing in front of his own door.  He stepped through the threshold and turned to look back at Mordred.

Mordred handed him is keycard, and looked like he wanted to say something, but shook his head instead.  “Straight to bed with you. I’m of half a mind to take you back to Medical, the way you zombie walked the rest of trip.”

“I just need sleep, in my own bed,” Merlin insisted, though the bed in his quarters still didn’t really feel like  _ his _ yet.  It was too comfortable for one.  “Thank you,” he added, for lack of anything else to say.  He felt fuzzy and left-footed, but knew that Mordred had gone above and beyond, by essentially walking him home.

“Nonsense,” Mordred assured him.  “You bought me twelve whole minutes of silence.  It was refreshing.” He made a shooing motion into the room, and flashed a soft smile that was a little closer to his normal self.  “Now, into bed. I’ll have someone around to check on you in a few hours. You  _ will _ answer the door.  Do you understand?”

Merlin sighed.  He didn’t have the energy to argue at the order or the way he was being babied.  “Yessir.”

“Good man.  Get some rest, I need you back in Central to help sort through all this shit.”  Mordred waggled his finger at him, then pulled the door closed between them.

A quick glance at his clock showed that it was two in the afternoon, but there was no way that Merlin wasn’t going back to bed.  He toed off the slippers and didn’t bother with the robe, before he eased himself down on the mattress, mindful of all his bruises.

Merlin closed his eyes and wondered, not for the first time, if he was insane for taking this job, but then he thought of Harry, the tired thrill of victory, and the feel of hands against his skin, and decided that there was nowhere else he would rather be.

 

\-------------------

 

Harry knocked on the door to Merlin’s quarters, and when there was no answer, wondered if he should check back in medical first.  They’d kept the handler a full day longer, after all, citing concerns about pneumonia, and Harry had meant to visit, but he’d all but fallen into a coma after his own release.  How, embarrassing.

He turned to leave, when a thump on the other side of the door gave him pause.  The door creaked open, revealing a bleary-eyed Merlin. He looked Harry up and down, then glared.  “Were you sent to check up on me?” 

Harry blinked.  “No?”

Merlin blinked back at him.  “You can come in, then.” He backed away from the door then, and shuffled back towards the bed.  Harry, feeling judged, followed.

The room was dark, and Merlin had clearly been sleeping, but Harry couldn’t feel too bad about having woke him.  It was just about supper time, and he’d need to eat just as much as he needed the rest. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I can see that it’s barely human.”

That got a laugh.  Merlin cocked a brow at him as he shuffled towards his sink to fill a glass of water.  “If you’re not here to check up on me, then why  _ are _ you here?”

Ah.  That.  In the three days post-Bors, Harry had very little to do with his time other than think.  While that tended to be a dangerous thing for him, this time, he found that he welcome it.  There was just so much to try and sort; so much, even that once he returned to his rooms, he’d written it all down.  Journaling was something he’d done in his youth, though he’d gotten out of the habit in recent years. There was just something about seeing it all written out in front of him that helped to put his thoughts in order.

His feelings about Bors were just as complicated as ever, and so were his feelings about Merlin.  There was nothing to be done about Bors. He was in custody, and wouldn’t be escaping any time soon, and Merlin, was something that he could hopefully would be able to do something about right now.

“I realize that this isn’t the best time, but we’re bound to get very busy once we’re done convalescing, and this isn’t a conversation that I felt could wait.”

Merlin sat up straighter at that, with a frown marring his features, and no, that was the last thing Harry wanted-- for him to go on the defensive before at least hearing Harry out.  Harry held up his hand and shook his head. “No, please. At least listen before you start talking. Here, sit. Please.”

Harry sat down at Merlin’s desk, and motioned for Merlin to do the same.  He sat down on the edge of his bed. The Handler’s quarters weren’t like the Agents.  They were smaller, more like a single dorm room, than a flat, and Merlin’s space was cluttered.  There wasn’t a lot of space to move, and that meant that sitting as they were, their legs were pressed together.

Merlin was still sleep-warm, and the line of heat against his leg was hard to ignore, but Harry took a deep breath and did so.  “The other night, before the mess with Bors, you ran me a bath, and I asked you to stay.” There. He’d gotten started. The rest would come out easy.

\--It didn’t.

“You left, which, was the proper thing to do, I know, but still, I felt disappointed.”

Merlin opened his mouth to interrupt again, and Harry cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.  “Please just listen.”

After a moment of silence, Harry continued.  “It wasn’t even about the sex. I know  _ I _ was too knackered to be having any.  I just,” Harry paused. “Wanted your company.”  Full of restless energy, Harry stood and disentangled himself from Merlin to pace.  “We’ve been having these last times of ours for  _ months _ and it’s clear that the sex isn’t going to stop just because we say it is, but the sex isn’t all I want.”

He ran out of steam then, clenching his fists at his sides, before forcing them to relax, in an attempt to appear less invested than he was.  Harry wasn’t an emotional man by nature, and as much as he  _ wanted _ to have this conversation, to have resolution, it was taxing.

“What do you want?”  Merlin asked him, when it was clear that Harry wouldn’t continue on his own.  Harry turned back to look at him. His brows were furrowed, but he didn’t seem upset.  His tone was curious, cautious perhaps, but not the anger Harry prepared himself for.

“What I want is you,” Harry got out.  “To be my friend. I want to see if we can come to an arrangement between us, one that is perhaps more discreet than the one we’ve been sharing, but I also want us to go out for drinks.  Or play cards. Or do whatever it is that normal people do when they’re not saving the world and having sex. I’m afraid I don’t have much basis for comparison.”

“I know it’s not  _ ideal. _  If we were anyone else, I might be proposing a relationship, something real, and perhaps even romantic.  But that’s not who I am, and I don’t believe that it’s not who you are either. Not now, at least. Even if you decide the sex isn’t worth it, which it most definitely is, I still would like your friendship.”

Harry stopped then, and swallowed around his dry throat.  Merlin was inscrutable. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking as he blinked in Harry’s direction, but otherwise remained silent.  Enough time passed for Harry to begin to wonder if he hadn’t misstepped grossly, and was about to be thrown out with nothing.

“Somewhere in all those words, I think you proposed a what, friends with benefits scenario?  We drink, we fuck, no strings no promises if we meet someone new?” He tilted his head up in Harry’s direction as he turned on the bed to face him easier.

Harry flushed, damn his genes.  “I believe I did, yes. I know I--”

“Yes”

“--don’t have any right to--”

Merlin stood as Harry continued speaking, and covered Harry’s mouth with his hand.  “I said yes, Harry. Stop getting yourself worked up over nothing. It’s not like you’re asking for my hand in marriage.”

Harry’s stomach clenched at the thought of that, and he couldn’t tell if the feeling was a good one or bad. He shook it off in favor of relief, and happiness.  “Oh, yes, well. Thank you.”

Merlin’s frown faded to wry amusement as Harry continued to make an arse out of himself like a lovesick teenager, there was still something in his gaze though, that Harry couldn’t quite place.  The emotion there was gone in a flash, as Merlin opened his mouth to say something, then broke down into a fit of coughs.

Alarmed, Harry moved to the bed, and splayed a hand flat on his back until the coughing subsided.  “Are you al--”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kick you out, friends with benefits or no,” Merlin growled, before throwing himself back on the mattress with a groan.    


Harry hovered, unsure what to do now that his piece had been said.  How did people even deal with relationships? Should he stay? Should he go?

Merlin cracked an eye open.  “I can hear you dithering from here.  I’m not up for the benefits part of our new arrangement at present, but if you’d like to hang about a while, we might as well get started on that friendship thing.  Lord knows I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep with you hovering like I’m about to keel over if I breathe wrong, and I’ll go mad from the boredom if I sit here in silence.”

Harry startled and broke into a genuine smile, before sitting next to Merlin on the edge of his bed.  “Alright then. Where do we start?”

  
  
  


Hours later Harry woke up from where he’d dozed off next to Merlin to the sound of laughter.  Beside him, Merlin was still flat on his back, eyes open as he stared up at the ceiling, chuckling quietly to himself.  “What’s gotten into you, you madman,” Harry whispered, despite it being just the two of them in the room.

“Bors,” Merlin whispered in return.  “His whole plan with attacking Central was about taking the weapons plans.”

He broke into another fit of giggles that had Harry rolling onto his side to face him.  “Yes?”

“It was pointless!  All of it.” He replied between chuckles.  “The weapons plans weren’t stored on Central’s servers.  They never have been. Engineering has its own set of servers down in the basement.”

Harry blinked, incredulous.  “You mean?”

“Aye.”   
Merlin broke into another fit of giggles, and now that Harry was in on the joke, the laughter was infectious.  He  _ loved _ the sound of it, their joined voices in laughter, and could do very well with hearing it for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! But you may be saying "Raven...Raven. They're not really together yet." And you would be right. I've got a longer post addressing this [here](https://fvckingspectacvlar.tumblr.com/post/179430305389/so-as-im-getting-ready-to-post-the-epilogue-to) but the tl:dr is, there's a sequel in the works, that, fingers crossed, I'll be ready to start posting in a few weeks.
> 
> A great big hug to everyone who's stayed with me this far. Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I can be found on tumblr @ sleepersith, or fvckingspectacvlar. The title of this story comes from the song Burning Down the House by Talking Heads.
> 
> An enormous thank you to my other half and beta BosieJan for putting up with me during the past six months, as I wouldn't shut up about the fic, and doing the final edit. You're perfect and I couldn't do shit without you.


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